


Blowback

by Turandokht



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (typical for the period and culture of the characters expressing it.), Adventure, Angst, Bellamione is the Endgame, Bigotry & Prejudice, Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant Bellamione, Conspiracy, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (Harry Potter), Discord: Bellamione Coven, Discord: Bellamione Cult, Divorce, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Family, Femslash, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Horror, Intrigue, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Vampires, Loneliness, Magical Realism, Mild Blood, Mild Smut, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Multiple Pairings, POV Bellatrix Black Lestrange, POV Hermione Granger, POV Lesbian Character, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, POV Nymphadora Tonks, Plotty, Politics, Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic, Slow Burn, Some Implied Het But Not Much, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Time Skips, Torture, Vampires, Violence, but NOT poly, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turandokht/pseuds/Turandokht
Summary: The door clicked. Shadows began to shift along the walls.“Incarcerous!” Hermione commanded, the wand motion summoning, conjuring forth a mass of thick ropes to bind Valentina. Take out one enemy, turn for the next. Merlin, was this an ambush -“Fuck.” Hermione whispered. Her heart hit the pit of her stomach. She felt her strength melting.That familiar old bent wand that had resisted her magic so long and well, for the love of its mistress, was pointed again at her, as it had been on some of the worst days of her life. Drawn up in a massive coat, from ankle to neck, over the customary old dragon-skin corset and dress—absolutely gothic. Even the touch of ruby red lipstick, perfect below a wild tangle of black curls, now once again, almost silken and smooth, without a single extra hint of grey, for all of the years that had passed. Hips and thighs muscular despite the tiny size of her body, bosom full under the corset… Eyes alight with a kind of mad intelligence. Bellatrix. Dead, not gone. A vampire.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Nymphadora Tonks, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 71
Kudos: 276





	1. Threading the Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Tag - A dark secret lurks in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. Over the next twenty years it will gradually rise to consume one of the most powerful women in the Wizarding World.
> 
> Blowback will update circumstances permitting at this time. Scheduled updates will resume in spring.
> 
> Blowback is an operational term of art in the intelligence community referring to unintended violent consequences negatively impacting the originator.
> 
> Introduction— I decided to write a more conventional Bellamione romance. However, it includes a Nymphadora/Bellatrix relationship element as well. The objective is to make the story 100% canon compliant, including with the Epilogue and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, and "Blowback" is one of the two such story ideas that I have while still making Bellamione work. Should JKR release additional material in the future, I cannot, of course, guarantee that this will remain so.
> 
> Content - There will be sex, when it makes sense to write it. And for those fans of "There Will Be Love", yes, I am going to keep writing that story at the same time.

They were mustered in readiness for the occasion. That occasion, the assault on Hogwart’s, was to be nothing less than the triumph they had all been waiting for. It was time to end the Wizarding Wars—forever. It was time to crush the Order of the Phoenix, and end Dumbledore’s legacy—forever.

It was May Day. Next year, for May Day, Bellatrix thought, they would celebrate with some obnoxiously traditional and English things, and it would be sweet. Morris Dancing, perhaps. The land would be cleansed of the muggle inventions which had spoiled it—of the coal soot, the chemicals in the rivers, the noise, the vehicle exhaust. While she lived, for Witches lived long, she would yet see an Ice Fair on the Thames.

And the Muggles would be put in their place. There would be no ministry to stop them, no International Armies to turn back. It would end tomorrow.

Draco would grow up to be a powerful man in the new regime—her nephew, whom she still thought fondly of their Occlumens lessons over.

She could enjoy life with Narcissa as her sister.

Maybe, perhaps, with Ted Tonks gone, she could even make something of a relationship with Andromeda again. She was a Slytherin too, she would adapt to the circumstances around her. She’d drag her stupid half-blood Hufflepuff daughter back to her, toss her down before Andy’s stupid little muggle house, and declare ‘ _Come on, I brought her back to you! There should be nothing between us now!’_

She could finally get her teeth fixed, and she could destroy Azkaban forever, and she’d use that mudblood like a House Elf…

 _And I’ll raise my daughter and the Dark Lord will acknowledge her, and she will the heiress of all the magical world, and someday a Dark Lady in her own right, and she’s perfect, and I can’t believe I finally have a child and I love that I cuckolded that idiot Rod and that all he can do is grin and go along with it because it’s Him, Our Lord…!_ She started giggling at the thought.

“Bellatrix?”

Well, Bellatrix Lestrange recognised that voice perfectly well, and the single word was all that was required for her immediate obedience. “M’lord,” she answered, and turned, and made a slight curtsy in her dress and corset, with a look of both confusion and enthusiasm on her face.

“Bellatrix, come with me,” he instructed, and turned with her, leading her into one of the rooms in the Shrieking Shack, now converted to his command post. She followed with a look that did not fully escape trepidation. She could not, for the life of her, imagine what the Dark Lord wanted with her at that moment, before the battle was to begin. She had done everything perfectly to prepare for the hour.

“My Lord, how may I be of service?”

He spun around, and almost tenderly, and yet so very roughly, grabbed Bellatrix’s throat. “My dear girl,” Voldemort spoke with a patronizing sneer, “it’s come to my attention that you provided the Witness to seal an Unbreakable Vow between Snape and…” He smirked. “Your sister, Narcissa.”

Bellatrix froze under his grasp. She was a fine Occlumens, but he was the Dark Lord. She was his servant. She could not resist him for long if it pleased him. So, forcing a swallow through her throat against the pressure, she nodded once, her face shocked and nervous under the black light of the dark house. “Yes, M’lord, I did. For my nephew’s sake.”

“For your nephew to get out of the task I assigned him, you mean,” Voldemort sneered. “Isn’t that it?”

“For Draco’s sake, yes. Snape promised to kill Dumbledore if Draco could not, M’lord.”

“Yes, I already know,” Voldemort answered, and released Bellatrix, turning his back to her and stepping away with the imperious confidence of a man who had the measure of his subordinate and knew that she could be no threat at all to him. His robes rustled softly. “Bellatrix, that was very foolish, and very stupid. The only people dumber in the entire affair were Snape and Narcissa themselves.”

She tensed.

“But I suppose I can’t really blame a woman for wanting to protect her son. And Snape – well, I’ll worry about Snape later.” He turned back, and their eyes faced each other, the Dark Lord and his foremost Lieutenant. “I’ll forgive you and your sister—and your nephew—on the expectation that during this battle—for I will order them to surrender, but we both know it will not happen—you will prove your loyalty to me. They will come, with many members of the Order. It will be our chance to destroy them all.”

“I AM loyal, My Lord! I will do anything for you!” Bellatrix almost sobbed, falling to her knees, trembling. She was not sure, she was too confused and hurt, to know if she was more afraid for herself, or for Narcissa and Draco.

Voldemort snorted, and spun back around. “Good. I expect nothing less from you, Bella. So, you have a half-Blood Niece. An Auror. A member of the Order of the Phoenix. A silly Hufflepuff Metamorphmagus, the daughter of your sister Andromeda, the blood Traitor. We put paid to her husband. You will put paid to her daughter. Kill Nymphadora Tonks and I will forgive Draco and Narcissa.”

Bellatrix froze. She hated Andy, or, she had hated her once. In Azkaban, she would have killed for even Andy the Blood Traitor’s presence; but then, she would have killed for nearly anything, in Azkaban. She didn’t hate Andy like _that,_ not the way where you murder your sister’s daughter. Not that way. Halfbloods were people too, even if they weren’t pure enough for marriage, not to a true line of purebloods. Nymphadora didn’t deserve this command. They would pardon many others, when the Dark Lord took power. They were merciful, to those of even half blood!

But Narcissa and Draco _certainly_ didn’t deserve this, either. She whetted her lips, and looked up at her Lord. Her Slytherin brain was working in overdrive. “It will save both of them, My Lord?”

“Certainly,” he smiled.

“Then I will _kill_ Nymphadora Tonks,” she said, very precisely.

“Yes. That is what I commanded. I know you were once the Brightest Witch of Your Age, but if Nymphadora Tonks has a heartbeat when this is done, Narcissa and Draco will die.” He chuckled.

 _I can work with that,_ Bella thought to herself, not daring to think more, just to fight down the flash of resentment and frustration with the Dark Lord that threatened to boil within her. She had given him everything.

Deep down, somewhere inside, she knew that he had given her nothing in return. That he used her. That she had been reduced to just another bemusement for him.

But on the night of the First of May, 1998, it was much too late for those kinds of thoughts. He had given her everything, too, including her daughter. She’d have to do it. She’d have to destroy any chance of repairing her relationship with Andy, forever.

Unless she didn’t.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day became a manic effort. She had to fit the preparations for this spell into the preparations for the battle, and Bellatrix was in the thick of the preparations for the assault right up until the moment it was time. Her Master intended to give his warning that would expire at midnight, that night. In fact, she had very little time left.

This was no easy matter. She was a Slytherin, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, a student of the Dark Arts in her own right, even beyond what Voldemort had taught her. She was perfectly capable of experimenting and learning these ruthless magics of a darker and more cunning age, when the world was in tune with the natural, magical forces of the universe, just as her Master was.

The spell that she had chosen to obey his command with would test the limits of her knowledge, particularly with a lack of preparation. The first thing she did was race back to the Malfoy Manor; there, she knew that amongst the various artefacts and knick-knacks she would find a Vampire-killing stake wielded by one of Lucius’ innumerable ancient ancestors. This she acquired at once.

From it she took the dried flakes of vampire blood, and added them to her cauldron, back before Hogwarts and uncaring of the effort in the floo travel. To Do Something Backwards; that was what was next. In fact, the spell she used was related to the _Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers—_ a Broomcare spell that, for all it was innocent in the modern day, actually had antecedents centuries before anyone flew on brooms and had been used for different purposes entirely.

To this was added the water of a good English black bog. The kind which once her ancestors had sacrificed men within. Thestral tail hair was added to this—normally a wand ingredient and wildly wasteful, but it was easy enough to get around Hogwarts thanks to the presence of the large herd of Thestrals. Then, in short succession, she hit it with first the Imperious Curse to bind it, and the Killing Curse to make it a touch of Death. Then, with a dagger, she emptied her own blood from an opened vein into it, while chanting out a variation of _Vulnera Sanentur_ in iambic pentameter.

The bubbling brew in the cauldron solidified for a moment, and then oozed into a mud-like blood, as if someone had heated up the filling of a red velvet cake until it was molten. Setting her wand down, Bellatrix grabbed the cauldron, raised it into the air, and cried out: “Morte! Morte! Morte!”

Then she guzzled the entire brew in a single go, before staggering and falling back against the wall, with her eyes flashing red and then slowly returning to normal. She could feel the spell sinking into her magic, creeping over it, infesting it from top to bottom. The world seemed to change around her. Her wand movements were more sluggish, but she could dimly hear the beating of the hearts of her comrades as she prepared to fight.

That had been a risk, of course, and she had known it had been a risk. The walls of the shack seemed to close in, but still, she mustered her will and strength, and banished the feeling. It would weaken her magic, yes, but it would also put her in touch with an inestimable power. She would obey the Lord—and she would send Andy’s daughter back home to her the day after the battle.

As a Vampire, certainly, but as a walking, talking, just-slightly-dead Nymphadora. Later on, Bellatrix would be able to explain to Andy why she had to do it, and she was certain that eventually Andy would appreciate the importance of it, and her own cleverness in obeying the Dark Lord and squaring the circle. Voldemort might well torture her with the Imperious Curse, but he was still likely to be very impressed she had actually managed the Vampiricus Curse, and therefore forgive her; anyway, she had hinted that she might try to rules lawyer when he had given his command, and he had not explicitly ruled it out in response to her prevarication. Sometimes he liked it when his commands were treated as challenges, at least by those Death Eaters he liked.

And he liked her enough to give her a daughter.

Bellatrix dragged in a breath. There were consequences, of course. For as long as the spell lasted—until the next full moon—her magic would be weakened, and vampiric. This was a considerable risk the day before a battle, but she was doing it for family, so that, just perhaps, the three Sisters Black could be again together, if only Andy could give up her damned blood treason! The filthy mudblood had taken her sister away, and she would never forgive mudbloods for that.

But he was in his grave, and now, she had a solution to the prospect of her niece being in _her’s._ Weakened, yes, but she was still confident that she could take dozens of enemies. She would overcome Voldemort’s test—her mind was insisting that was all it was, that she was _meant_ to do this—she had to be, she had to believe it—and the war would be won.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The infection of vampiric magic into her natural magic meant that there was not some kind of special spell that Bellatrix needed to use on Nymphadora Tonks. It was a matter, plainly, of using the Killing Curse. Vampires were _Undead._ The Killing Curse was absolutely efficacious, it always worked, if and only if it came in contact with its target. But the intent behind it was subtly different, when you were under the influence of Vampiricus.

It was strange, how she still felt a twinge of regret, as Nymphadora Tonks toppled over dead. She’d hated the devious trickster-beast of a niece, the spawn got on her wonderful sister, her closest friend growing up, by a monstrous mudblood. But somehow after so much loss, and the isolation in Azkaban, and her own daughter’s birth, Nymphadora seemed more like… More like family.

But a subtle twist of her wand, a few whispered words, confirmed what she wanted to know. A twisted form of existence remained. Nymphadora Tonks’ soul had not gone beyond. _Triumph!_ She cackled in the midst of the battle, uncaring, or unthinking, of how most would assume it was at the death of her own niece, the successful murder of her own blood.

Then she turned on to the next target, and the next. She fought through to the truce. She wondered where the hell her sister and her nephew had gone—and she fought on anyway, because she was Bellatrix, the Warrior, and she’d sort that nonsense out when the battle was fought and won.

 _Why the hell did Narcissa and Draco arrive from – over there? Why aren’t they fighting? We need the help!_ That was what she thought, herself and the Dark Lord cut off—in fact, the situation was bad, she was not sure who was still at arms in the rest of Hogwarts. There had been so many enemies, and the death of Nagini had sent discordant shockwaves through the ranks of the Death Eaters. Bellatrix darkly thought that many had fled.

The thoughts distracted her with the imperative to crush this impertinent Ginger House Witch in front of her, and crush her quickly. She lunged into another attack, feeling a burning sense of anger and shame, that she had let herself weaken her magic before a battle like this. Bella had never expected that she would be the last, with the Dark Lord, fighting like Agamemnon before the Gates of Troy, against an entire host of enemies. The ruins of Hogwarts lay scattered around her, and she had to finish this bitch, and she had to call out to Narcissa, call out to her little sister, tell her to attack… If it was four against this horde of curs, traitors and mudbloods, they could still prevail!

Then Molly Weasley’s spell took her, blew her back, slipped in through her shields. She felt something in her heart.

It stopped beating. The pain of the muscle's abrupt interruption was unfathomably intense, a sensation few people survived to talk about.

_Shite._

Her last observation of the world around her as the ruins of Hogwarts went dark, was the stricken expression on Narcissa’s face. The desperation she felt, to tell her about Delphini, to make sure her daughter was raised a Black. The inane desire, when it was clearly too late, to get in one more spell against Molly Weasley.

The feeling of wondering whether or not she would be judged for her crimes in the life beyond, or honoured as a warrior-woman of the old Gods of Britannia, to sit with Boudicca in honoured halls, for such epic feats of the spilling of blood.

 _Who’s going to dig Nymphadora out of her grave if I’m dead?_ Came a last inane thought.

On the tip of her tongue was the realisation, the stupid, irritating realisation, that the curse Molly Weasley used wasn’t the Killing Curse, and it shouldn’t be killing her right now. _What the fuck is going on?_

Then the thoughts vanished from her mind, and life with them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the end it was just Narcissa and Draco, of course. Lucius was still in a holding cell as his final fate was reviewed. Nobody else would think to show up to the funeral of Bellatrix Black Lestrange. All of those who might care were either in Azkaban, or Ministry Holding Cells, or themselves dead.

Andromeda had sent a letter. It had been short, and coldly formal; but it was still condolences to one Narcissa Black Malfoy for the death of her sister, Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Narcissa had written back, offering her own condolences for the death of Nymphadora Tonks. It was all hell and not enough, but there was a part of her that was heartened by the fact that they could at least exchange those coldly formal letters. Bellatrix had killed her daughter, and even Narcissa felt it was very generous of her to send the letter; the least she could do, damn the rules of ostracization straight to the devil, was write back and reciprocate the condolences, and so she had.

Narcissa still remembered the look on Bella’s face. Now, of course, it was much more peaceful. They had applied all of the embalming charms to preserve the corpse long enough for the funeral (they had worked extremely well), and the House Elves had wrapped her in the Eslene, the Celtic burial shroud. A Druid was arranged to bring the fe and measure Bellatrix for her grave. They buried her with meat, and mother and son drank beer together over the grave, after the House Elves had finished the work. At least unlike with the Black Line, here at the Malfoy Manor, there would be people in generations hence, to honour and keep and tend the grave of Bellatrix Black Lestrange.

And it was next to the shared plot that would someday hold her and Lucius. _If he wants to complain about it, he can do it when he gets out, and by then, it’s too late. Hah! It’s already too late._ She shook her head.

“Mother?”

“Draco?”

“You were real friends, and I’m sorry.”

“I started mourning Bella decades ago, my son, when I started to lose her to the Dark Lord,” Narcissa answered quietly. “And then when she was at Azkaban, I made my peace with her death. But, I desperately wish she was here with me, to enjoy the peace. To find some way to live a life. You will find your own friends, my son; I know that the ones you thought were your friends ill-used you at school, but, it’s all over now. We will pick up the pieces and go on, and get your father out soon. Come on.”

She turned away, and blew a kiss to her sister’s grave. That would be the last memory of Bella, then, consumed by the soil, on the residence of a palace just as grand as it had ever been, but now, feeling much less like any kind of home. The Black Sisters would never be back together; but, since Andromeda had eloped, she had never had any real faith, anyway. Their happiness would lay in memories for her, and nothing more.

Arm in arm, mother and son walked back toward the Malfoy Manor, leaving one more grave in the family gravesite, one more marker to the old Gods among those mixed between the Celtic and Christian traditions. One more set of regrets. One more hole in her heart.

Narcissa resolved that she never _wanted_ to get over Bella, that she wanted to agonise in how raw this felt, for as long as she lived. But it would fade, she was sure. Nobody would ever get such an easy experience as that. The world was too cruel to let one wallow in misery for long.

Or perhaps it was too hopeful. She was alive, after all. She had her son. Bella had died fifteen years before, or longer; Narcissa had done nothing wrong on that day, and certainly nothing wrong now by giving her sister a grave alongside what would one day be her own. She had done right, and preserved her family, and Bella’s bloodline within her own. It was all she _could_ have done.

And Bella had killed Nymphadora, too. Her heart went out for Andy, even through the decades of confused, bitter hatred, and accusations of blood treason. She could feel the raw anguish of her sister, which had driven her away from Voldemort merely for the fear of feeling it. Andy was living it every waking moment. There could be no escape, and there was no getting better from that.

Narcissa had just lost Bella.

But the losses were all intertwined, interlinked. There was no ‘just’ in the feeling that any last bond between them had been irrevocably torn apart.

The sleeping draughts that night were all that pushed her into a restless, fitful, miserable and dreamless sleep. She settled down into a four poster bed which felt almost empty without Lucius, and tossed and turned until they claimed her. It was only under their influence that she slept, and only until the hour of the wolf--right up until the moment that the House Elf Mardy woke her. The moment it happened, in a witch’s intuition, a cold and clammy hand of fate, of tension, of uncertainty gripped her, and she felt like she was resting on a precipice, her heart jolting sharply within her chest.

“Mistress, Mistress!” The House Elf’s eyes were so wide, with an element of real fear. “Mistress Bellatrix needs your help!”


	2. Death Not to Part Us

In her nightgown, Narcissa rose from bed, and hastily tossed her evening gown over it. She paused for a moment at the issue of waking Draco, and decided against it. Something had happened, because Elves Did Not Get Confused about whether or not people were dead or alive and try to help the ones already in the ground. Fear, confusion, anguish, hurt all flooded her as she cinched the belt. A pair of old slippers sufficed for footwear and she padded out the kitchen of the Manor and made her way to the burying ground, with fear gripping her heart, and the elves hovering around.

“What happened?” Narcissa commanded, rather sharply.

“Mistress, Bella called us for help! She’s trapped inside the box in the ground. We tried to arrive, but there wasn’t enough room.”

Narcissa slowed down, with a distinct shiver flooding her body. _Gods, Bella, what’s happened?_ It was like being thoroughly worked over. She’d only just begun to mourn her older, crazy sister who had deserved so much more than she had gotten in life. Now… _Gods…_

She was going through the list of things that could have happened, and not finding any of them to be particularly comfortable.

The sod seemed to have heaved slightly. An involuntary shiver ran through Narcissa. She carefully aimed her wand. “ _Defodio Levis,_ ” came the soft command, very gently stripping sending the layer of sod peeling back. Then again, she repeated the spell, and sent the dirt going in another direction.

That was enough for the lid of the coffin to explode outwards, even though it wasn’t completely uncovered. Inside, there was a deep, low snarl. Narcissa’s breath hitched. “ _Lumos._ ”

Inside the coffin, rising from a crouch, a pair of eyes glowed red, reflecting the light at the tip of the wand. The eyes of her sister—of Bellatrix Black Lestrange, dead at the age of forty-seven.

Narcissa mentally catalogued all the different nightmare scenarios that might have come to pass. She hadn’t been ready for this; but, she knew what to do. “ _Protego!”_

It was just in time as the snarling Bella slammed into her sister’s own shield and staggered back, a look of trembling defiance and shock and confusion and hunger and need all planted, plastered across her face as her burial shroud hung across her. She growled, and Narcissa could clearly see her fangs.

The intellectual acknowledgement that ‘my sister has returned as a vampire’ seemed so matter-of-fact in a moment when your skin was cold and clammy and you were locked in a feeling of absolute, instinctual terror.

It was illegal to kill vampires except in self-defence. They had been nearly all exterminated centuries ago. But this was clear self-defence…

 _It’s illegal to kill them because they ARE capable of controlling themselves. Narcissa Black, that’s your sister_! The part of her blindly panicking was fought down as another thought blossomed, even as she had to cast a second _Protego_ to fend Bellatrix off again. _She is your sister._

_She is your sister._

_She needs you._

In fact, there was exactly one thing that Narcissa knew Bellatrix needed. “ _Incarcerous,_ ” she commanded, and slammed a strong series of ropes and bonds around Bella, until, writhing against them, her sister toppled down into the grass, straining hard. Even the very powerful bonds Narcissa had conjured were sorely tested by the great vampiric strength.

So Narcissa now approached her, and knelt beside her. Reaching down, she put a hand to Bella’s forehead, and gently cupped it, as the Vampire thrashed below her. “I know you’re very hungry,” Narcissa said gently, “but I had to make sure you don’t kill me.” She rolled back the sleeves of her left arm, holding her wand tight and ready in the right, and extended her bare wrist to her older sister’s mouth.

Bella’s fangs tore into her wrist almost painlessly. The pain from that kind of wound always came later… But it didn’t come. Instead, there was a wash of pleasure, of comfort and content and yes, some uncomfortable waves of erotic desire, embarrassingly submissive. Narcissa didn’t know enough about vampire lore to quite understand what was happening, but she stilled herself, for the sake of her sister and her family, to cut Bella off. “Mardy,” she instructed in a snapped hiss of breath. “Apparate me away if I faint.”

“Mardy understands, Mistress!” The elf exclaimed with trembling, wide eyes.

In her bonds, Bellatrix had begun to calm down as she drank, and drank, feasting of her sister’s own blood.

After the initial surge of impulsive fear, Narcissa never looked back. This was her sister before her, and she was in to the finish. Her world steadily became faint, and dizzy, and she was quite certain that she was about to faint. Now came the hard part. She wrenched her arm away from Bella. There was a faint tearing of her flesh, and the paint finally came, sharp and excruciating. “ _Vulnera Sanentur,_ ” she managed, directed at the wound to her own flesh. She put almost all of her magic into it, cast it as precisely as her condition could allow, and was relieved as the wound sealed, though she still felt awful.

Some blood had dripped as she had pulled herself away, and Narcissa couldn’t help but feel sad at seeing Bella licking frantically at it, but it was also clear she was much calmer.

“Bella?” She gasped out, breathing hard.

“Mistress, Mardy brings you blood-restoring draught!” The house elf at once apparated away. _Good elf,_ Narcissa thought.

“Cissy? Cissy?” Bella murmured, forcing herself to draw air in with an abrupt start. “Cissy?” Her eyes opened, and with the _Lumos_ having faded away, did not glow. Narcissa reached out and brushed a hand against Bella’s cheek, gently.

“I’m here, Bella. I’m here. You’re safe on the grounds of the Malfoy Manor.”

“Safe.”

“Safe,” Cissy agreed, hauling herself to her knees in time for Mardy to bring her the draught, which she drank in gulps, hard and quick. Until then, she imagined her skin was almost as pale as her sister’s. “Are you… Will you be able to avoid attacking me if I release you, Bella?” What kind of lunatic was she to give the Vampire permission to answer that question? Well, it was a question that needed to be answered, and Bella was the only one who knew the answer.

And Cissy was committed enough to her sister to take risks.

“Y-Yes,” Bellatrix hesitated. Then she looked more firm. “Yes, I can, Cissy. I already had some food, I chewed the raw meat you left as the… The g-grave offering in my c-coffin.” Even Bellatrix Lestrange stuttered over those words. “It helped a little, but not enough.”

“Gods, I’d imagine not, but it’s good to know that animal blood will help even a little,” Narcissa eyed her, then looked again to Mardy. “Press all the meat in the house for blood, prepare it for Bellatrix, and go to the usual shops to obtain more as soon as you can with the morning.” The drought was starting to restore her strength and stamina, and Narcissa no longer felt quite so faint.

Now was the moment of truth. She took a breath, and raised her wand, releasing Bellatrix from her bonds, undoing them as neatly as she had bound her, letting the ropes disappear back into the aether. “I love you, sister,” she said in barely a whisper. Perhaps it was raw bribery from the younger to the older, but it was also as heartfelt as anything could be.

Bellatrix didn’t attack. Instead, she slowly pushed herself to her feet, wrapping her burial shroud tightly around herself, and looking around the grounds of the Malfoy Manor. “Need to avoid an empty grave tomorrow,” she muttered.

“I’ll send the House Elves out to take care of it as soon as we are inside. Come on, Bella.” Drawing herself up with her robes around her, Narcissa took an arm around her sister, and began to help her inside.

“Who else is home?”

“Just Draco. They haven’t released Lucius yet, but the signs appear favourable.”

Something glinted in Bella’s eyes. “You betrayed him,” she said softly, and the words made Narcissa freeze. They both paused at the entrance to the garden.

“To save Draco. And now, it seems, to save _you._ Family first,” Narcissa answered with quiet firmness. “I won’t apologise for that, Bella.”

“I know he’s dead. It drove me into a frenzy in the … In the grave. I could see that the Dark Mark was washed out. This time, it’s… He’s done, Cissy.”

“It’s over,” she agreed.

Bellatrix seemed like a little lost lamb for all that she could be led so easily into the house. Still, Narcissa didn’t want to wake Draco or explain the situation to him. So she went up to her private sitting room and called for one of the House Elves to bring her tea. Thinking on her feet, it was clear that Bella wouldn’t be going to sleep until sun-up, and so neither would she, so she would just have to keep herself that way.

Bella grimaced at the cuppa that her sister soon held. Pressing the meat for blood would take longer even for the Elves than a simple cup of tea, and Narcissa noted with interest the grimace. _Has she lost all ability to enjoy food and drink?_ She desperately hoped not, for her sister’s sake.

Quickly, another elf was tasked with bringing clothes for Bellatrix. These were comfortable evening attire, not her usual clothes, though her wardrobe had in fact been left in the Malfoy Manor and was available to her. Narcissa turned a way, a little sheepish of the feelings she had experienced when Bella drank her blood; her sister, to her credit, must have felt the same, as she dressed with indecorous haste.

“I need all the books in the library on vampires,” Bella instructed another House-Elf, Nolly, and quickly he returned with six old books stacked high. Curled up on a settee, Bellatrix reached out and took them into a pile. In the lights inside the house, her eyes were flashing red whenever they were caught directly by the light, and she blinked widely and like she was in pain; Narcissa used her wand to quickly adjust the magical lights down, and Bella relaxed immediately.

“All right,” she murmured. “I… He’s really gone. He’s really gone.” A pause, a swallow. “And I’m not.”

In truth, Narcissa admired Bella’s presence of mind that she had called for the books before having a bit of a little breakdown over the Dark Lord’s death. That there had been no argument over Narcissa’s decision at Hogwarts. Of course, Bella didn’t have her wand, but she was a vampire. She hardly needed one to be a threat, even to a skilled witch.

_My sister is a vampire._

_I still have my sister._

The two thoughts warred within her. Narcissa leaned back with her tea, slowly feeling the warmth in the room enter her. She had called for the heat to be brought up nice and hot, suspecting that Bella would no longer care one way or another. But Bella actually seemed to appreciate it. In the end, Cissy chose just not to respond to Bella’s meandering about the Dark Lord. Her sister would have to sort that out herself, and considering the choice that Cissy had made, intervening in that thought process would potentially have violent consequences. _Let Bella work through it by herself._

She marvelled at the way that Bella read the book, so intent. She hadn’t seen that calm intellect as part of Bellatrix since her escape from Azkaban. Still, growing through the silence, Narcissa did have a question gnawing on her heart. “Bella, how did – how did this happen?”

Bellatrix sucked air in through her nostrils and snorted softly. “I was an idiot,” she dismissed herself with real anger. “I used a spell to taint my own magic with vampirism. It weakened my body, so when…”

“Gods.” Narcissa shivered. “When that curse from Molly Weasley hit you…”

“Yes, when the fucking House Witch got me, the vampirism burst out of my magic and killed me. And turned me into a vampire. The first of my line!” There, a grin, showing her fangs, appeared, and she looked up after gesturing to the book.

“The first of your line?”

“Oh yes, vampires must obey the one who brought them across, there is a tie in the blood, which can take centuries to wear away. But you see, I turned myself into a vampire, my own magic did it. I’m free, this book says it clearly. There is some benefit of this.”

 _You were a slave to the Dark Lord,_ Narcissa thought. But, again, she decided tact was the better course when it came to Bella and Voldemort. She knew what had happened in her own manor, after all. “Like being alive.”

Bellatrix shot a sharp look at Narcissa. “If you and Draco and Lucius had fallen in with me to fight, we would have won.”

“Not against the Boy Who Lived. Not when everyone else was defeated. Bella, you were the _last_ to defend the Dark Lord. The Order of Phoenix was powerful enough to defeat everyone else. In fact, Potter’s duel with the Dark Lord was just his prophesied destruction; his cause was already ruined by the time it took place. You fought like an Army of wizards, Bella, but that was not enough. You were the last.”

“It SHOULD have been enough!” Bellatrix screamed. “It SHOULD have been enough! I weakened myself, Gods, I weakened myself! Don’t you understand, Narcissa? I _weakened_ myself! And all to save the halfblood, I … I betrayed his trust.”

“The half-blood?” Narcissa frowned. _The chance of my sister having a half-blood lover is approximately zero. Particularly after bearing the Dark Lord’s child._ “...What half-blood?”

“Nymphadora,” Bellatrix answered, and even as Narcissa stared in surprise and confusion, she hastily continued her explanation. “My Lord came to me and said that I had to kill her in atonement for the treason that you and Draco committed against him. The Oath with Snivellius.”

“It wasn’t treason. A Slytherin cares about the ends, not the means! It was clever,” Narcissa bit back. “As you at the time knew. You would never have participated in treason to the Dark Lord, but you sealed my oath with Snape. He was going mad at the end, that’s the only explanation for such an obsession with loyalty on his part. So he ordered you to kill Nymphadora… And you did?”

“I had to, to keep you and Draco safe. You’re my closer relatives, you’re pure-bloods…” Bella trailed off. “But I couldn’t kill Andy’s child. Not even the spawn of that damned mudblood who stole her from us, Cissy. I couldn’t. But I had to.”

Narcissa smiled for a moment, and then the smile faded, and her expression stiffened, into a mixture of awe and shock and understanding. “Oh Gods. That’s what you mean. That’s why you did this. Nymphadora…”

“By infecting my own magic—temporarily--with a vampiric nature, I could make the killing curse I delivered act like the curse that creates a vampire from the bite of another vampire,” Bellatrix answered, waving a hand idly. “I could control it, and do it to just the one, and the only one, who I needed to save… I intended to return her to Andy when it was all over, I thought Andy would accept her daughter, even as a vampire… Even as you seem to be accepting me as a sister. Gods. I hope you are.” Bella looked up with an expression of abject hopelessness.

“I am,” Narcissa said softly. “But you’re telling me it _worked._ So you’re telling me Nymphadora Tonks is …”

“Alive? Un-alive? Un-dead? A Vampire, yes,” Bella laughed darkly. “And we need to get her out of her hole, because by the laws of Vampire magic, she’s my daughter.”

“Bella… We’re going to have to ask Andy where she’s buried.” Narcissa was looking at the impending nightmare of an investigation by the Aurors. Granted, it would be nothing good for Andy’s half-blood daughter, even though she had been an Auror. There was a law against massacring vampires for no reason because wizards had spent most of history massacring vampires for no reason, other than the fact that they were vampires, and most wizards would tell you that was reason enough right there. The Undead.

But Cissy trusted her sister’s instincts, and remembered Andy well. Andy might just well be the kind of woman who would accept her daughter as a vampire rather than drive her out. It was still an enormous risk to take.

“I can find her. I can feel her calling in my blood.” Bellatrix reached out to take the goblet of pressed blood which one of the house elves brought to her. Her eyes shone, and she drank deeply from it. Her face twisted a little. “Well, it is awful, but it is helping. We will need a source of blood for Nymphadora.”

“That’s going to take a little bit of time to arrange, unless we just go into the woods and kill some animals. Which is starting to be tempting right now,” Cissy admitted sardonically, shaking her head softly. Of all the things in the world, she had never imagined Bella dragging her into this, taking care of her half-blood niece who had been turned into a vampire. “I’m actually going to say that we bring Andy into this. The more I think about it. One, she deserves to know. Two, it will be faster than looking for her ourselves, and we don’t have that long until dawn.”

“In fact, it’s almost dawn now. I’m not sure we can effect a rescue until tomorrow. And I need to get the house elves on … Filling my grave up,” Bella laughed, tinged with hysteria. “Go to Andy, then? Nymphadora is trapped, but when the dawn comes, she will sleep. I will, too, unless I force myself.”

Narcissa eyed the windows, and sat her empty cup of tea down. Likely, she’d be having more with Andy soon—even if the idea was almost completely alien to her at this point. _Oh well, one thing Andy and I will be sharing today is a lack of sleep._ “Right. We need somewhere that will be safe for you. Do you mind if I have the Elves move a bed into the wine cellar?”

“That sounds perfect. I may experiment to see if I can still enjoy it,” she waved a hand airily and rose, still holding her goblet of blood. It was threatening to congeal, but Bella had almost finished drinking it. Her lips were stained with red.

“Do so.” Narcissa paused and grinned. “Just make sure you start with Lucius’.”

“I wonder how he will take this. He was always proud of the Vampire hunters in his family. In fact, I stole a …”

“The stake.” Narcissa shook her head. “Well, serves him right for keeping that bloody trophy of a dozen generations past on the wall. In fact, I don’t give a wit what he thinks about this. He will accept it, or we just won’t tell him, but either way…” Narcissa forced herself up, but she started to cry, too. “You’re my sister, Bella. And I can’t help it, but I’m going to be honest and say that I’m thankful that you’re finally free of that man!”

Bellatrix looked like she was about to explode into anger. Then she calmed, and forced herself to rise, as well. “I am a Black. I will overcome.”

Narcissa reached out and embraced her sister.

The two then went separate ways, with Bellatrix following some of the House Elves into the wine cellar, where they outdid themselves by preparing a lovely four-poster bed with canopies, and barring the door which led out of it into the inner kitchen, and stuffing rags in the cracks around the door, before disapparating from the cellar with Narcissa who left satisfied that, though Bella seemed melancholy, she was also calm, and the sleep that would take her would be a preternatural one which would hopefully work on her whatever healing was possible to the body of one of the undead.

Narcissa very much felt she had the more challenging course of action. She used a quick set of spells to dress herself, to take no more time than she needed to. Alone, the Floo was definitely safe, as it might not be for Bellatrix. So she took some Floo powder, went to That fireplace, and spoke the words she had never expected to speak. “The Tonks Family Residence.”

Seconds of disorientation later, she was standing in the living room of a rather warm and largish tract house with all of the tacky adornments of the idyllic middle class muggle lifestyle. Well, not true; the lights were superficially original, but were actually magical. _Good._

What was less good was Andromeda Black Tonks, passed out on the couch with a comforter pulled over her, wearing a night gown. The half-drunk bottle of Laphroaig Islay Single Malt indicated what she had been up to the night before to pass out with the lights still on.

Narcissa crept over and sat next to her sister, gently shaking her. “Andy, Andy… Wake up. You’re _needed._ ”

“Mmnff, I…” Andromeda Tonks awoke with a start, and backpedaled against the far armrest of the couch. “ _NAR--_ ” she forced herself to be quiet. “Cissa? Cissy? Cissy? You _came_?” She rubbed at her eyes furiously like she was trying to wake up and dispel a front-headache from the liquor at the same time. “Teddy’s with Harry and the Weasleys while I pull myself together, they promised me a week after the funeral to do whatever I had to do to mourn in before I need to take him, you know… Oh Merlin, you actually came. How the hell did you bring yourself to do that, Narcissa?”

“You’re my sister,” Cissy answered, basking a little bit in the real appreciation. “That’s certainly part of it.” She reached out and took Andy’s hand.

“Harry says you saved his life.”

“I did,” Narcissa agreed. She wasn’t about to not take credit for that one, seeing as she might soon need all of the goodwill that she could possibly get. “Now I need your help to save someone else’s.”

“Cissy…?”

“Nymphadora.”


	3. Struggling for Balance

**Struggling for Balance**

“Get out of my house, you sick _bitch,_ ” Andy said with her voice trembling with rage. “She died to defeat the Dark Lord, and if you had defected sooner, she might just be alive. And now you come to me and say …” Andy, quite simply, lost it, shoving her sister off and whipping out her wand in a furious series of hexes. Narcissa staggered back, barely defending herself. In her own stress and exhaustion she had definitely not thought this through.

“Andy, Andy, I would never! She’s alive and she needs you!” Narcissa cried, driven back into a wall that now had several craters in it.

“I PUT HER IN THE GROUND! I PUT MY LITTLE PINK HAIRED HUFFLEPUFF INTO THE GROUND, CISSY! FUCK YOU!” Andy screamed with her wand flying.

“ANDY LISTEN TO ME! SHE’S TRAPPED IN HER COFFIN! BELLA TURNED HER INTO A VAMPIRE! BELLA. TURNED. HER. INTO. A. VAMPIRE.” Narcissa punctuated each word with a frantic shield to keep herself free and clear until Andy saw some sense.

The attacks stopped. Both women were breathing hard with their cheeks flushed. “Morgana’s tits,” Andy gasped. “You’re _serious._ ”

“I’d _never_ lie to you about your daughter like this. No matter what – no mater the blood purity, I… I’d never,” Narcissa answered, tears falling from her eyes across her cheeks as the emotion of the moment grew too much even for her enormous reserve to bear.

Andy started crying too. “Well excuse me for thinking that after pureblood bigotry killed my husband and daughter, that after you drove me out and didn’t talk to me for more than twenty years, that I might just be inclined to think the worst of my little kid sister!” She sank down to her knees, sobbing. “My kid sister. Why did you come…?”

“Andy, I’m not lying,” Narcissa shook her head grimly. “I’m…. Not lying.”

Andy’s head whipped up to glare at her from where she was on her knees, on the floor. For some reason, Andy still seemed to have total power over her despite that imbalance. “I’m sorry, Narcissa, but you have not yet re-earned the kind of trust which would make me go into a cemetery and dig up my daughter’s corpse only on your word.”

Narcissa’s lips twisted into a deathly grin. “Then come to the Malfoy Manor with me. Lucius is still in a holding cell at the Ministry awaiting the formal sentencing for his probation. Draco’s been very quiet. And he’s learned his lesson. He won’t be unkind to his aunt. I can prove this to you.”

“You’re going to have a high bar to prove that, Cissy,” Andy shivered.

Narcissa stepped up, and extended her hand. “I will deliver. But first, I want an oath on wands.”

Andy glared at her. “Why is that necessary?”

“Because someone _else’s_ life depends on this as well. And it’s my job to keep her safe, and just in the same way that you’re not going to trust me about this overnight, I’m afraid it’s simply too great of a risk for me to trust you about immediately, either. An oath, Andy. I need it.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, they stood in the wine cellar of the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had cast a darkening charm in the kitchen, turning it pitch black and denying any light to the entry to the cellar. Then they had opened the door, after elves had apparated inside to remove the rags stuffed around the door. The two women had felt their way forward down the stairs, until, past the influence of the darkening charm, they had brought up the magical lights inside of the wine cellar, very dimly.

The seriousness and elaborate nature of the preparations had made Andy grow silent and grim. When she saw Narcissa open the curtains around the four-poster bed, the younger sister could hear the hiss of breath from the elder.

Bella lay there, under the comforter and blankets and sheets that had been gently arranged by the House Elves, with her head falling into two pillows, with rose-printed covers, and her hair spread out under her like a crown, a halo around her skin, which had been sharply pale to begin with, and now was almost impossibly white.

“Mardy,” Narcissa called, and the Elf appeared.

“Mistress Narcissa?”

“Bella is cold?”

“Mistress Narcissa, very cold is Mistress Bellatrix. Mardy puts many blankets on Mistress Bellatrix, but she stays cold.”

Narcissa had known that. The conversation had one point, really; the Elves would not lie. They would admit that Mistress Bellatrix was dead.

With no heartbeat, with no breath, she might look like a perfectly preserved corpse. But the matter-of-fact way the Elves treated her as still being a person who needed to be cared for, a Mistress, could mean only one thing.

Andy staggered and sucked in her breath, looking to Narcissa with wide, wild eyes, as her younger sister gently closed the curtains around the four-poster bed again, leaving the eldest Black sister to her daytime sleep. “My daughter … Is in that hole, alone,” she said now with the urgency of a mother who knew, who instinctually knew, of her daughter suffering in absolutely despicable conditions—stuffed into a coffin, trapped for days.

“Bella said she would be unable to resist sleeping during the daylight,” Narcissa offered gently, though it was a sore comfort only. “So she will be at peace right now.”

Andy leaned against her younger but taller sister. She was crying again. “What in Merlin’s name did Bella do to Dora and herself?”

“Let’s get upstairs, and I’ll try to explain what Bella and I pieced together. Then we’ll try to sleep a bit before sun-down, I think. At least for the next few weeks, I think we will be keeping a vampire’s schedule ourselves.”

With a ragged breath and a cackle that lacked the malice of her older sister, but definitely had all of the desperation, Andy allowed herself to be led up back into the darkness, to close the door to the cellar, and let the House Elves re-seal it behind them. Narcissa dissipated the charm, and Andy leaned against the wall, tears and breaths alternating before a deathly grin crossed her lips. “We should have brought up some of the wine.”

“Oh, there would be absolutely no reason for that,” Cissy answered dryly. “There’s harder options in the liquor cabinet up here.” She led her sister to the couch in the parlour near the parlour liquor cabinet. “Since you like Islays…”

Andy stared at the Bowmore ‘57 that appeared, shaking her head. “Almost as old as I am.”

“Aged twenty-five years,” Narcissa agreed pleasantly, pouring out the drams. “Andy, do you appreciate now why I made you swear that oath?”

Andy took a drink and nodded with a quick jerk of her head. “Yes, you’re protecting Bellatrix. I don’t know what the Ministry would do to a wanted witch who was now a vampire…” She trailed off, the tears falling uncontrollably from her cheeks again. “Cissy, six hours ago I was sleeping through my nightmares, absolutely convinced my elder sister had murdered my daughter. Now I find out Bella actually got herself … Turned into a vampire, trying to save Dora’s life. I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Well, one just has to accept the universe for what it is,” Narcissa replied, leaning into Andy. “I’m terrified, I want this to be over. I think Aurors will come storming in any minute, then I remind myself they know nothing. Legally the case against Bellatrix is even closed; she’s legally dead, after all.”

Andy, on the other hand, seemed to shy away from talking about her sister, and by extension, her daughter, as dead. She was firmly following the initial way Narcissa had phrased it—Nymphadora was alive, just different. She needed help. She was still there.

And now so was Bellatrix.

“So, what happened?” Andy now again asked.

Narcissa explained it quickly. “I looked at the spells, I see how Bella did it. I understand her rationale. To her, it was a very normal Slytherin thing to do. Game her instructions to achieve a satisfactory outcome for everyone. She probably thought she could sell it to the Dark Lord with the fact that she could, well, use Nymphadora to control you.”

“I call her Dora, and she prefers people call her Tonks, you know,” Andy corrected gently. “She hates her name.”

“You gave it to her, Andy.”

“You don’t call me Andromeda, now do you? And I don’t call you Narcissa. Usually.”

“Just when you’re angry.” Narcissa shook her head. “We should try to sleep, now that I’ve explained the matter. We need to wait until the evening, when Bella is awake, we can get Nymphadora then.”

“Shh. I’m thinking.” The brown-haired Black sister looked at her partially blonde sibling. Some subtle inheritance of magic had progressively made the hair of the Black sisters lighter; Bella’s remained the most fabulously dark. “The best thing to do would be to get them out of the country,” Andy said, musing as she looked at her half-drunk glass. “I mean, really. Somewhere with a minimal threat to vampires. From other vampires too. I understand they can be territorial, and you said Bella and Dora will be their own clan… I don’t really want my daughter to be alone with Bella, though. Sorry, Cissy, but that just seems like a plain fact. Shite. They need to go for their own safety, but …” She sighed. “People might accept Dora as a vampire. But that would mean revealing Bellatrix. And …”

Narcissa reached out and gently squeezed her sister’s hand. “Let’s sleep, Andy. Let’s get _Dora_ out of that hole she’s in. Let’s get everyone together here, safely. Then we can plan.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Narcissa’s words led to one consequence, of course. Two Black Sisters, with hangovers, waking up at sunset—standing over their elder sister as she stretched in bed, in the wine cellar, waking up with the sunset, feeling deep inside of her body the differences, the intensity of her hearing, her sight in the darkness, the lack of a heartbeat. The throbbing feeling of hunger that came from _smelling_ two living humans next to her…

The dim recognition they were family, as she finished waking up. The House Elf, presenting her with a chalice of pressed blood. She drank of it, even though the animal blood was revolting to her sense of taste, it did dampen the hunger for others, though, as her eyes widened. _Andy. Andy is here._

But wasn’t that why she had taken her calculated risk that had backfired so badly in the first place? Because of Andy? Not needing to breathe—and it was still disconcerting—she was propped up in bed, her legs folded, looking at her two sisters as she drank from the chalice. They both looked at her silently.

Bellatrix finished drinking, and handed it back to the Elf. “Cissy. Andy,” she offered, making air come into her lungs, so she could greet them. A rising feeling of tension crept through her. “Cissy…”

“Andy is under an Oath of Wands,” Narcissa explained quickly, “not to reveal that you are here, or that you still live as a vampire.”

“I was there when you got your wand at Ollivander’s. Is destroying me worth seeing it snap in two?” Bellatrix asked, rather accusingly.

Andromeda Black Tonks folded her arms defiantly. “Don’t be an idiot, Bella. It would never be worth it. There is one thing I want right now, and you’re going to help us in that. I want my daughter out of the ground. The charges were dismissed, you’re legally dead. I am committing no crime by helping you, Narcissa has my oath, and I would, I assure you, do anything to get Dora out of that hole, one way or another.”

A Vampire’s first instinct around humans, she was increasingly realising, was to impress, to intimidate, to dominate. But wizards and witches were far more immune to this than muggles. Andy stood her ground, even as Bella glared for a moment. Then her expression softened. _You wanted your sister. Your still have your chance._

Bellatrix forced herself to rise, to face the other two. “Well, Andy, let me get dressed, and then you can apparate straight away with us to Nymphadora.”

“Wait a moment, Bella,” Andy raised her hand. “Cissy and I have been over this. What is Nymphadora going to eat when she wakes up?”

“You’re her mother, I was assuming you’d volunteer…”

Andromeda swallowed convulsively. “I will if I have to.”

“I did it for Bella,” Narcissa offered. “It was a risk, but it worked out.”

“We need human blood for her first time, and the longer she’s in there, the hungrier and less controllable she will be,” Bella rose, and called for the Elves to bring her one of her changes of clothes, corset and all. It would only accentuate the way she looked like a vampire, now. She had been teased about this in Hogwarts, now it had come true. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Actually… I might,” Andy offered, glancing to both of her sisters. “We could rob a muggle Blood Bank.”

“...Muggles have _Blood Banks_? What do they do with them?” Bellatrix answered. She couldn't for the life of her imagine what made muggles store blood in banks.

Narcissa looked like she was having a Moment staring at Andy. Her eyes had widened for a moment. “...How do you know about the muggles storing blood in banks? What do they do with it there?”

Andy rolled her eyes. “You two are such utter purebloods.”

“And so are you! And you should be thankful for it, Andy! It is the most precious gift possible at birth!” Bellatrix exclaimed, only halfway through dressing. Narcissa was studiously avoiding that conversation, for all Bella was sure she was more sympathetic with her than not.

“Yes, well, you’re going to have to trust my dirty muggle world knowledge if we’re going to get enough blood to fully sate my daughter. I will look up where one is. It should be easy for us.”

“It’s technically a crime to steal from muggles,” Cissy hazarded.

“The blood is collected to be donated to other people. Because muggles don’t have magic, they have to take blood from people, to put it in other people, in place of the Blood-Replenishment Charm,” Andy explained with a sigh. “So we’re using the blood for its intended purpose—helping someone who needs their own blood replenished. Okay, so it’s a bullshit argument, but a good enough solicitor could get us off with it in the Wizengamot if we’re arrested.”

Bella smirked triumphantly. “Now there’s my sister acting like a proper Slytherin.” She frowned right after, though, as she thought through the implications of what Andy was proposing. _Fine for them, but hardly worthwhile for a wanted war criminal who is now a vampire_. “It wouldn’t help me, of course.”

“If _you_ get away, we’ll take the fall and use that as our defence. After all, I also have my daughter in the ground, I have a _very good and sympathetic_ excuse.”

“All right, Andy,” Narcissa looked composed, as if, having made her mind, there was nothing more to be concerned about. “How do we find a … Muggle blood bank?”

“At this hour?” Andy frowned. “Well, come on, let’s get to my house. We can apparate with Bella.”

The empty feeling in her hand was wearing on Bellatrix. She was feeling downright envious of her sisters with their wands; it was the first time since she had gone to Hogwarts in 1962 that she hadn’t had one nearby—except for her time in Azkaban. So, not having a wand made her think of Azkban. She was rapidly getting tired of it. “Speaking about that, am I going to get my wand back?” Bellatrix pouted at Cissy, her voice demanding in only that way she could be.

“More research on how vampires can cast magic,” Cissy looked firmly enough that, after a moment, Bellatrix sighed and gave up.

With nothing more to be said, she had to follow along—still feeling pouty about it--and let her sisters apparate her to the garden of the Tonks residence. She was almost as helpless as a muggle, and it made her feel on-edge in a muggle community.

Andy let her sisters in by unlocking the back door. Bella wandered into the kitchen, looking around suspiciously like she was going to see muggles coming out of the walls. Her look became rather more dire when Andy set the electric kettle boiling.

“...Why don’t you use a good enchanted kettle? Did they really get to you _that_ much, Andy?” She continued to shoot glances at it. _I can’t believe he seriously corrupted my precious sister that badly. Perhaps this is why we practised ostracization. Perhaps … No, Andy doesn’t deserve that._

“ _Appearances_ with the muggle neighbours,” her sister answered with an irritated look, hands on her hips. “And then, I confess, I got lazy and started using it anyway.”

“Hrmph!”

Narcissa held her tongue. The two sisters followed Andy into one of the rooms off the living room; there she pushed a button on a white box, next to another white box with a queer black glass square in the middle.

Then the screen flared to life. “Electricity,” Bellatrix grimaced. “Which ghastly muggle contraption is that?”

“It’s a Computer. They’re built, I understand, by a very wise man in America named Bill Gates,” Andy explained, now with a kind of bemused patience… Which faded as she got to the next words. “Ted was rather fascinated by them, and Dora would spent late nights up on the thing when she was home from Hogwarts or work. Anyway, it’s a kind of muggle thinking machine, and there’s a Butler Service on it called Ask Jeeves which lets you ask questions and quickly receive an answer—I don’t understand how all the muggle rot works, but Dora showed me how to use it.”

Bellatrix leaned over her estranged sister’s shoulder, close enough that Andy glared at her for a moment, before giving up in the greater urgency of keeping her daughter safe. Even as Bella watched the middle Black Sister asking Jeeves where the nearest Blood Bank was, she could _feel_ the blood rushing her sister’s veins.

Of all the crimes she had committed in her life, Bellatrix very much intended to never take the life of one of her sisters. It was still a struggle against what seemed a natural impulse of a vampire, to hunt and take the blood of living humans.

Andromeda finished taking down the address. “All right. I know the nearest place we can apparate to. Ready?”

“I’m going to rob a muggle bank that’s filled with blood,” Narcissa answered dryly. “I’m _never_ going to be ready. But I’m doing it anyway.”

Bellatrix snickered. She couldn’t resist: “Oh come on, you’re just getting dinner for me, Cissy.”

Both of her sisters seemed unamused.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What Bellatrix soon discovered about raiding muggle blood banks is that for some reason they were not well defended. Instead of having lots of armed guards with their muggle guns and uniforms, they were nondescript ‘light industrial’ facilities, albeit there was a maze called an ‘industrial park’ where the roads spiralled in strange patterns protecting it, but Andromeda seemed to navigate this without a problem—her sister was, despite her indiscretion with a mudblood husband, actually quite smart, and a smart pureblood witch, it seemed, could easily render muggle maze technology irrelevant.

Once there, Andy and Narcissa selectively made them invisible to the Muggle seeing-eyes, and commanded the door to pop open. It was occurring to Bellatrix by this point that if she could work out a system of knocking off these blood banks, she might never actually need to feed from a human; she could just go here and eat the actual muddy muggle blood as food, which was really all it was good for anyhow.

Narcissa commanded a second inner white door to open, the silvered metal handle clicking open in a satisfying manner as it swung wide. A gust of cold air came out. “This is that muggle cooling technology, isn’t it?”

“Refrigeration, yes,” Andy nodded, and ducked in quickly. “Bella, _please_ don’t drink the blood here. Discarded bags and frozen drips of blood on the floor would be really obvious.”

“I have some self control,” Bella growled. She was feeling rather put upon by her sisters. Rather _helpless._ Her entire cause had been lost, and she was currently dependent on her younger sisters robbing muggle businesses to survive.

Anyway, the refrigeration made it so that she couldn’t really smell the blood.

Andy and Narcissa both had bags of holding, and they were stuffing blood into them about as fast as they could. Even Bellatrix recognised plastic bags, if much thicker and heavier than the normal kind. They were quickly filling their bags of holding with plastic bag after bag filled with blood. It was not a way of storing fluid which would have ever occurred to Bella, and she had to stop herself from wondering if her fangs could directly pierce the material.

_Your fangs._

She was acutely aware of just how far off the rails her life had already gone, then. She was supposed to be celebrating the Dark Lord’s victory. She was supposed to be his triumphant Lieutenant.

Instead, she was trying to think about how she, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, was actually _afraid._ Afraid of what she had done to herself. Afraid of a future without her cause. Afraid of encountering other vampires when she had no connection to their culture or values. She was quite possibly the first self-created vampire in centuries. She had no idea how they would respond to that.

And Andy would be counting on her to keep Dora safe.

If her sisters were as terrified as she was inside, they, too, gave no sign of it on the outside. They just had grins of triumph at having committed, to the wizarding world, a minor misdemeanor—which would remain so as long as muggles never found out about it and dragged in the services of an Obliviator squad.

Andy reached out to take her hand, this time, and with Bella feeling like she had been stuck with a rather dull expression on her face, she felt herself pushed through a straw as they disapparated straightaway to the cemetery which nominally held the mortal remains of one Nymphadora Tonks.

At least one thing was still going to the original plan.


	4. Facing Reality

At some point, Andromeda just accepted that the culmination of the absolute worst year of her life was when she was standing with Narcissa and Bellatrix around her daughter’s grave, intentionally exhuming her with gentle applications of digging spells. It wasn’t the lowest point. That had been before she had some hope of talking to Tonks in this life again. Like the other Black Sisters, she believed in the old Gods of Britain, not Christ—though she acknowledged him a saintly man, sage and Prophet and had no objections to worshipping at her husband’s laid-back Anglican Church—so in principle, she was not prepared to accept that a Vampire was inherently evil.

She was not digging up an abomination. She was digging up her daughter.

Finally, they stripped off the last layer of dirt before the coffin. Narcissa stepped back, putting an arm on Andy. “Bella has to do this, Andy,” she said with her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Stepping back from her daughter’s coffin was the hardest part. All the wounds had been reopened, and her teeth were clenched until they hurt, her hand firmly on her wand.

The coffin burst open. A blur began to move from it, just to be caught by Bella, thrusting up one of the plastic bags filled with blood, and then another, and then another. Blood went _everywhere,_ splashing over Bella too, as the ravenous Tonks tore into the bags. Several times, she looked toward Narcissa and Andromeda, and Andy could feel a shiver in herself at the inhuman tint of those unfeeling, desperate eyes, smelling or sensing a warm body, or hearing their heartbeats.

It chilled her to the bone that she was looking at her daughter.

Bella grew hungry herself, too, and tore into the blood bags as well. Fortunately, they had plenty of them. They had truly well stripped the case, and Narcissa and Andy were carrying more, that they had enchanted with preservative charms in a bid to keep them through until they were needed again.

When the veritable orgy of bloodletting ended, the two women, aunt and niece, Bella and Tonks, were laying in a heap against each other, in ground lightly stained with blood. Gingerly, Andy stepped forward toward her daughter. She saw a gently pallid glow in her cheeks which seemed lively, even if pale, and dropped to her knees to grab Tonks’ head and pull her into her lap. “My daughter, my daughter, my only daughter…” Andy sobbed softly.

Narcissa followed her, to gently tug Bella away, and give them a moment of privacy, while she took her wand out to start scourgifying the eldest sister’s clothes.

“...What happened to me?” Tonks finally managed, staring up at her mother. “Is that… Bellatrix?”

“It is. You… She turned you into a vampire during the battle, Dora.”

“...Remus?”

“I’m sorry.”

Tonks cried blood-slicked tears for a while. Andromeda held her as close as she could. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the middle Black sister whispered to her daughter over and over again. “I wish I could say it a thousand times.”

“Mum…” Tonks managed to reach up with her hand. “We’ve both lost our husbands. Shh. I… When the hell did Bellatrix become a vampire? Why is Narcissa here?”

“Narcissa is here because she found out about Bella,” Andy answered. “She was the one who came to get me, to tell me that you needed help. The story of how Bella became a vampire… Well, as ironic as it was, she was trying to save your life.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Narcissa had never imagined it was possible to feel quite so haggard as this. The exhaustion was creaking deep into her bones. Andromeda, for what it was worth, looked no better. Bella and Nymphadora looked much better, by comparison. Fresh blood mattered to them, apparently. Or at least reasonably fresh blood.

Now they were all sunk into chairs and couches at the Malfoy Manor. They had completed covering the grave back up; at least they were fresh, so they would not look unduly disturbed. Now… Now there was the future.

Now there was Nymphadora and Bellatrix, sitting on the same couch together, in a state of relative tension, but sharing the same books. Bella’s insistence that Dolohov had been entirely responsible for Remus’ death had be a tour-de-force of pathos. Nymphadora had looked miserably angry, but in the end, she had stood down, and for the first time in her life, there was a twisted semblance of a family relationship between Bellatrix and her niece.

“Mum” Dora addressed Andromeda. “I… I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to be Teddy’s parent.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “It’s not safe for a vampire to raise a child.”

Bellatrix grimaced.

 _You’re thinking of the daughter that you think I don’t know you have,_ Narcissa thought to herself. But she didn’t open her mouth and blow the secret. The Rowles _were_ a good pureblood family and were a good choice for raising Delphini. Nymphadora, Dora, Tonks, whatever she wanted to call herself—she was absolutely right.

“Can you visit, can you be involved in his life?” Andromeda asked softly, curling deeper into her chair.

“Yes.”

“If it’s kept secret,” Bellatrix muttered. “Last thing we need is Harry Potter finding out that I’m still alive.”

There was a particular look of fear from Dora. Fear that mingled with acquiescence. It was quite clear that she was acutely aware that Bella held some measure of power over her. Bellatrix had been a self-created Vampire.

By the laws of Vampiric magic, Dora had been created by Bellatrix.

Andy and Bella were now, in a twisted sense, _both_ Nymphadora’s parents. There was nothing else that could explain the complicated relationships that they now all faced together.

The eldest and middle sister looked at each other. Bella swallowed. “Well, we need to figure out how to be vampires,” she said, her voice echoing a surprising gentleness, as she glanced to Nymphadora. Perhaps the fact that she held some power over her niece made her more comfortable with the girl.

Narcissa nodded. “I wouldn’t dispute that. Of course, killing vampires is a crime in wizarding Britain, but… It’s a crime because it often happens.”

“Will we get our wands back, Cissy?” _Our._ Bella was not afraid of Nymphadora bearing her wand, then. She clearly felt that she had some measure of control.

Andy rose. “Well, I was worried about vampires performing magic, but you’re going to have to learn.”

“It’s hard,” Dora confessed, her hair slowly shifting to a lush, dark red. “I feel like even my metamorphmagi powers are being sucked through a straw. I’m trying, but I can barely even change the colour of my hair.” She rose.

Andy extended Dora’s wand to her daughter, returning it to her. Bella looked at Cissy in naked envy. “I know you have mine, Cissy…”

Narcissa sighed, and left to retrieve her sister’s wand. The idea of keeping it from Bellatrix seemed impossible, almost a comedy. They were witches. Even as a Vampire, Bella deserved it. She returned in a few minutes with her sister’s crooked wand, and presented it to her.

Bellatrix clutched it in her fingers, and sighed softly. “You were given it, with my other personal effects?”

“Death ends many prosecutions, acts, and wounds,” she sighed as she moved to sit again. “Well, Bella, _be careful._ ”

“ _Lumos,_ ” Bellatrix commanded. Instead of a brilliant white light, a flickering red one issued with the power of her wand.

Nymphadora pursed her lips and watched. She repeated the gesture—she repeated the command—all to the same effect, too. A flickering red light.

“Vampirism taints magic,” she whispered uncomfortably. “I…”

“We’ll have to learn all over again, Hufflepuff,” Bellatrix said drolly to her niece, barely sparing her a glance. “But we _will._ We’re strong witches and we have nothing to be afraid of.”

Andy looked to Narcissa, expressing confusion and concern. She wasn’t really prepared for her older sister to be giving her daughter a gruff pep talk.

“So. I’m under suspicion, and Lucius will probably be on probation,” Narcissa observed. “Therefore, it’s only a matter of time before Aurors have the power to search this house at a whim. And they could arrive on short notice with warrants even before then. It’s not safe for the two of you.”

“ _I am an Auror,_ ” Dora snapped.

“You _were_ an Auror. They will regard you as a dangerous magical creature when they come. They’re _Aurors._ What would you do if you found out a pureblood family was harbouring a former member who had become a Vampire, Nymphad…”

“Tonks!” The younger woman exclaimed to her aunt.

Cissy sighed. “Very well. _Tonks._ Again, what would they do?”

Tonks folded her arms and sank back into her chair.

“My point exactly,” Narcissa murmured. “We have to be aware of the reality that vampires are not welcome in wizarding society. We need to get _both of you_ somewhere safe. We need to make sure that _both of you_ have a chance to re-learn how to use your magic, and to create healthy lives for yourselves. We need to get you into a part of the world where vampirism is more normal and more accepted and where you can be safe from law enforcement activities.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange is wanted all over the _entire planet,_ ” Tonks groaned. “It’s not even an exaggeration.”

“Not quite. There are places in the world which are not in compliance with the International Council,” Narcissa raised her own wand to her lips, with a sharply clever look. “I have one in mind, to keep you safe for the moment, based on some research I completed while we waited for an opportunity to… Wake Tonks up,” she acknowledged politely to Andy, not choosing a less delicate term for it. “It’s a disputed territory, an unrecognised country, which means the country itself claims it’s under the authority of the Russian MinKol, but nobody, including the Russian Federation’s MinKol, actually has legal responsibility there. Well, the Russians keep some officers present with their troops, but in fact, they let a group of local Aurors who used to serve in the Soviet MinKol run the show. And, my family, they are quite well known to take bribes. It’s called Transnistria.”

Andy blinked. “I think I remember some muggle source on that. It’s that little strip of land alongside the Dniestr river in Moldavia, isn’t it? Well, that certainly is a place with a reputation for vampires, I give you that, Cissy.” But she didn’t look _happy._

 _No, I don’t expect she is,_ Cissy mused.

“What about seeing Teddy?” Tonks asked sharply.

“Your mother can bring him there while claiming to Potter that they’re going on vacation to the Riviera or somewhere else more conventional,” Narcissa answered smoothly. “The cost of living is very low, and everything is done in muggle currency, which is untraceable and uninteresting to Aurors and Gringotts. So we can liquidate my inheritance from Bella and turn it into muggle currency and Gold. Then it will be possible for the both of you to live comfortably, to invest in properties, and to come up with a viable plan for feeding. I will say that I am vacationing, escaping from the stress of my husband’s criminal review, and help you get established. Nobody will trace you, and we can bribe anyone who might be a risk.”

“Well, it sounds like a reasonable place to hide,” Bellatrix shrugged.

Tonks pursed her lips. She was clearly much less happy about it. At heart, she probably still wanted to get her aunt Bella straight back into Azkaban, even if a vampire had never been held there before, and it would become a matter of considerable litigation, if the Ministry didn’t simply ignore the law and lock her up without trial, as had been done for many of the Death Eaters at the end of the last war.

 _What do you think of that, niece?_ Narcissa wondered idly, and rose, and began to pace. “I simply cannot keep you here. It’s a reasonable accommodation to make both of you as safe as possibly can be.”

“How will you get us out of the country?” Bella seemed quite eager to depart. There was something about her will which made Tonks’ will and resistance falter in turn. The younger woman frowned, but just watched quietly.

“A muggle aeroplane. We’ll travel by muggle means, to Moldavia—the capital is Chisinau. There, we will enter the country through muggle customs, and then make our way by truck or train to Transnistria. There are still cross border connections.”

Tonks couldn’t help but smirk at the twisted and disgusted expression on Bella’s face, quickly mixed with aghast horror. “Cissy, are those things… Safe?” She looked sharply to Andy. “Have you ridden on one?”

“They’re said to be the safest form of muggle transportation that exists,” Andy offered. “It will be fine, Bella.” She shot Narcissa a look. “However, I want to talk with Cissy. Alone.”

The two sisters stepped out, with aunt and niece eyeing each other as they left. Bellatrix was bemused. Tonks was beginning to realise just how trapped she was.

And that was what Andy wanted to talk about. “Cissy, you’re talking about sending my daughter to some unrecognised post-Soviet Republic in Eastern Europe with Bellatrix Lestrange. Do you realise _how helpless_ she is going to be there?”

“Do you realise _how much danger_ Dora and Bella are in here?” Cissy countered. “Be sensible, Andy. It’s a temporary measure. We get them somewhere safe. We can keep an eye on them anyway. We have magic for that. We can leave the country at will, and then arrange a portkey inside of Eastern Europe for our own convenience. And Dora is bonded to Bella.”

“You mean my psychotic pureblood sister can exert magical control and influence over my daughter, Cissy!? Because that’s what that bond really means.”

“It works both ways. It isn’t just … It isn’t like that. I read! I read it, Andy. Bella will experience much the same need to care for Tonks that you do. It’s just different with a vampire.”

“Much the same, but different. You sound like a Solicitor,” Andy groaned. “Are you going to tell me next that Bellatrix is _sometimes always_ kind.”

Cissy snorted. “Hardly, I couldn’t defend _that_ in court.”

“Cissy, this isn’t a joke. Bella is …”

“Our sister. The woman who weakened herself during the Armageddon to save your daughter. She wouldn’t be a vampire if it wasn’t for that. She would have fought as hard as she could for Her Lord. She would have done anything for Voldemort, Andy,” Cissy continued, voice cool, low, urgent. “The Aurors are hunting down all the remaining Death Eaters still. They are sparing no-one. The world has turned against all of us.”

“ _Us,_ Cissy? I’m not a Death Eater. Dora isn’t a Death Eater. Gods, _you’re_ not a Death Eater. In fact, the only person here…”

“Andy. She is our sister. Both she and Nymph… ‘Tonks’ deserve to live. There is no dispute about that, I hope.”

Andromeda closed her eyes. “I am not disputing that, I am trying to keep my daughter safe. She hasn’t been stable or sane for decades, Cissy. Would you trust Draco with her?”

“I did. She taught him how to be an Occlumens,” Cissy answered. “She sealed the oath I made with Snape. As I explained before, when I told you how all of this came about. She does care about family, Andy. She wouldn’t have saved Dora’s life unless she cared deeply about family, and wanted a way out between the demands of the Dark Lord and the fact that… Dora is your daughter. She _loves us,_ Andy. Even now, as a vampire, she is fully capable of that devotion. And the bond she now shares with your daughter is _real._ ”

“Why not just have Bellatrix go to Transnistria, and Dora can stay here?”

“That requires her, when confronted with all of her friends and comrades, to lie, convincingly and often. It requires her to compromise her morals in a way that sending her with Bella does not. As it is, she can at least convince herself she will be a restraining influence on Bella.”

“ _Convince herself._ You acknowledge it won’t be real from the start?” Andy hissed at her. “Listen to yourself, Cissy. You act like what Bellatrix did was _good,_ instead of some awful prevarication between right and wrong.”

“I think nothing of the sort. But I do think that, based on what we know of vampires, our sister and your daughter will need their own coven to stay safe in their society. They will need to be far from British wizards. They will need to be on the edge of the law. Yes, Bella has committed crimes, and yes, what she did was a _prevarication_ between right and wrong. I will not deny this to you, Andy. But they’re both still with us, and we can keep them that way, while we work on a strategy to bring them back into our lives.”

“And Teddy will grow up without his mother!”

“You heard Dora,” Cissy groaned and reached out, grabbing her sister’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t be safe for a vampire to raise a child. And that’s a fate that both Dora and Bella are going to have to endure.”

Andy froze.

“She had a child… She thinks I don’t know, but I do. She gave birth here in the Malfoy Manor. A daughter. She’s being raised by the Rowles.”

“Oh my God… The father wasn’t Rod, was it?” A look of perfect shock and horror crossed Andy’s face. She knew too much about her sister’s preferences and obsessions to ever believe that. There was only man who mattered enough in Bella’s life.

“No,” Cissy acknowledged. “It wasn’t.”

Andromeda gave in.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Narcissa had arranged the passports. In fact, any wizard that wanted to travel was entitled to a regular, non-wizarding one. That meant Narcissa and Andromeda could easily obtain them. Nymphadora and Bellatrix were legally dead, and they could not (also, it would be quite the security alert for Bellatrix to be travelling anywhere, even on a muggle passport. Dora had explained that when there was a security alert in the Ministry’s system, it was designed to trigger a watch alert by the muggle authorities, so that if they scanned the passport it would come up on a non-detention monitoring list. This would not stop someone from travelling, because of the risk of a Statute-shattering battle, but it would mean the muggles would try to track them, and also would report back on their whereabouts to a database which fed into the Ministry’s enchantments on travel documents, allowing Aurors to quickly respond).

So Andy and Narcissa and Dora—who had managed to at least slightly alter her appearance, after some effort—had gone to an illegal passport dealer who Dora was aware of from a previous case an Auror. They had been required to disable several detection and tracking devices of the muggle police—the man was clearly under suspicion—but with those devices disabled, there was nothing to indicate the passports had been created, or that they had been present with him.

With passports in hand for all four, they had packed luggage with notice-me-not charms and bags of holding, until they had stuffed suitcases full of gold and cash and a smattering of Dora and Bella’s valuables. Then they had gone to Heathrow. Andromeda took charge here, buying the tickets at the last minute in cash—the fare hardly mattered, though she wasn’t used to that. She booked them all first class from Heathrow to Bucharest—the capital of Romania—on British Airways. Once upon a time that would have seemed like a lavish expenditure for her and her husband when they—rarely—travelled in the muggle world, but with Cissy and Bella’s money, it was nothing.

The first class line through security was passed without incident and Andy had thought to bring along a little drum; she claimed to the security guards, somehow managing a straight face, that their wands were custom drumsticks. Late at night after a long day at Heathrow, the only panic was when Bella’s jackdaw skull necklace set off the alarms. For a moment, Andy was in a blind panic that Bellatrix would refuse to play along with security, but after a look no worse than those they regularly got from First Class passengers about such minor things, she assented to the security guard’s request and put it into a plastic tray; the second time, she walked through the scanner without incident, retrieved her necklace, and they were off.

They occupied one entire row in First Class on the 757-200 as the machine taxied down the runway and took off without incident for the redeye of the two flights to Bucharest. “Muggles serve you like House Elves?” Bella asked urgently as she looked, a hair suspiciously, at the First Class Stewardess taking their orders.

“Yes, but it pays to be more polite,” Andy answered. To try and keep Cissy and Bella from doing anything stupid from a lack of familiarity, Andy and Dora had agreed to sit next to them during the flight… And Andy, already uncomfortable about what she was assenting to, had insisted it would be her sitting next to Bellatrix.

“I’m perfectly polite to the house elves,” Bella muttered. “Well, you order, Andy. I want wine, I can still stomach that, and the rarest steak they have, I can sort of choke that down.”

The secret way of getting a rare steak on BA flashed through Andy’s head. “Six-minutes rare, just six minutes in the oven, that’s right,” she instructed to the slightly flustered woman, and got her sister a nice red with it.

Bella picked at it, of course, managing a passable imitation of herself as a teenager.

“Why do you even bother to eat?” Andy whispered. She switched to Cumbric, to make doubly sure, in such tight quarters, that nobody overheard them.

“I like remembering when I needed to,” Bella answered as she continued to slice up the rare steak and eat the truly bloody bits, and it was plaintive declaration from her sister if ever there was one.

Andy looked at her own white wine and wondered why she didn’t ask for a Scotch on the rocks instead. “Fair enough, Bella.” Her eyes wandered to her daughter and Cissy, and it seemed like they were both getting along. _Good._ They had a fair window upon arriving in Bucharest for them to get through customs, but then they would have to quickly find a hotel. After some discussion they had agreed that, instead of flying into Chisinau, they would take the night train from Bucharest to Kiev. It passed through Transnistria, and they could alight in Tiraspol. It was best not to risk another flight.


	5. All The Jackdaw Reasons

The train ended up as complicated as could be. They had to get into the station when there was still light in the sky, though Andy had arranged a hotel close to the station, in the end, they agreed that Andy would first case the station, and then find a quiet place to apparate into for all of them, rather than risk the sunlight. They succeeded, at least, which left them departing for a thirteen and a half hour journey aboard a train that still had a name—the _Prietenia._ The first class compartment was well kept and spacious with its own bathroom, but with a distinct 1950s Soviet aesthetic. At the border, the train changed gauge; this was a loud, beastly process of swapping out the bogies, but then they were off on the Russian 5’ gauge.

The bored Romanian customs officials for exiting the country saw British passports and just asked if they had any drugs or guns; when Andy answered no, they stamped the exit stamps onto the passports and left. The Moldavians then asked the same thing, and seemly bemused at four British women coming to Moldavia for tourism, went ahead and gave them their entry stamps when Andy once again said ‘no’ to the same question.

Four women in a compartment. The magical preservative charms had kept the blood drinkable for Tonks and Bellatrix. There was no food service on the train, so Andy and Cissy made do with a bottle of wine (finished before they reached the border) and some gogoshi, deep-fried pastries with the consistency of a donut, in some cases stuffed with fruit, and for the others, meat. Curtains and shades firmly drawn, they had nothing to do but talk.

Bellatrix was curled into a corner of one of the couches formed from the folded up beds, which were the seats in the compartment. She had a blanket over herself, even though it wasn’t possible for a vampire to feel cold, it turned out that it was pleasant for one to feel warm. Andy and Cissy were trying to catch up. Tonks was writing a letter to her son.

When she finished, she handed it to Andy, and there was a pause in the younger siblings’ conversation. “Please make sure that – if anything happens – Teddy has this.”

“It’s not going to, but I understand,” Andy took it, her eyes flashing. “The two of you should talk. Set ground rules.”

“You’re right,” Tonks agreed, and turned to face Bella. “I’m not going to let you hurt people, Bellatrix.”

“We _feed_ off of people,” Bella answered sullenly. “I understand that you were part of the Order, and very proud of yourself for doing right and whatever else you called it, but we _feed_ off of people.”

“And we can do it ethically, without killing them. Better yet, we could subsist of cow’s blood.”

“I got through forty-seven years without intentionally starving myself, I don’t want to start now. You wouldn’t appreciate it, you haven’t been to Azkaban.”

 _And I’m now helping you escape going back._ Not true, really; they’d do something else to Bellatrix as a vampire. Possibly an attainder, and execution.

Tonks had believed that her principles, the affection and care she’d been given by her fellow Hufflepuffs, were the most important thing for her on the planet. She knew that to her mother, family was. Andromeda Tonks was, ultimately, a Slytherin. A _Good Slytherin._ She respected the difference. She’d learned from it.

The sisters were circling the wagons, in a sense. Confronted with the prospect of having both Bella and Cissy back and for her to still be alive… Tonks knew well that Andy would leap for that. That she would want nothing less than to see this work. Bella valued her relationship with her sisters. That much was obvious.

 _Think like a Slytherin._ There was a call, a need, coursing through her blood. She was sure Bella felt it too. They both couldn’t help it, they never would again. But she could incentivise Bella to control herself, just perhaps.

“Bellatrix, we need to be realistic. We don’t even know if other vampires will treat us as rivals. We don’t know what the rules are. Maybe nobody hunts humans anymore; maybe everyone just embezzles blood banks.”

The comment successfully coaxed a laugh from Bellatrix, somewhere between dark and mad, and bright and cheery, only Bellatrix. “That may be, that may be. So what would you have me do, Hufflepuff?”

“Call me Tonks, to start with,” she answered resolutely. “Be honest to me. I lost my husband and my father, and I was raised to believe that I wouldn’t know you. That you’d given up love for your own family, and paid the price, and were rotting in Azkaban because of the evil you’d done. And mother still teared up when she said that. She didn’t want you there. I grew up so angry that you’d hurt her, so _I_ wanted you in Azkaban, for hurting my mum.”

Bellatrix looked frozen in place in the corner of the sleeping compartment. Her face had lost all expression, and as a vampire, that left her looking like a porcelain doll. She clutched the blanket with a single idle hand.

Narcissa and Andromeda had gone silent. They looked at the young and impetuous woman, both daughter and niece. She ignored them, and focused on Bellatrix. “What goes on inside your head? Serve the Dark Lord, but prevaricate and try to save my life. My ‘life’, this was your solution. Serves you right. We’re both vampires now, and it seems, from what I can feel, you’re stuck with me. You created me, so we’re stuck with each other. I can _feel_ your bloodlust. I bet you can feel mine. So what are we going to do with it? With respect to my mother and aunt, I’m not so worried about knowing how other vampires act, _as such._ I do want to get along with them, because I want to get along with anyone I can. But in general, I’ve got my own morals. Somewhere inside, you just made it clear you do, too. Is scary, Bellatrix, to realise you have morals? That your morals _got yourself killed?_ Got … _Voldemort…_ Killed?”

Narcissa, ever the self-possessed, managed to cast the quieting charm just in time, as Bellatrix exploded into screaming.

“Don’t say his name! _DON’T SAY HIS NAME!_ He deserved the world, he deserved everything from me, and I _failed him._ I failed him! _I failed him!_ ”

“Hey, Bellatrix,” Tonks grinned softly, unperturbed by the outburst, and leaned forward, and grabbed her tightly. “I really like the fact that you love halfbloods so much you feel bad about failing one. It makes me feel more wanted.”

Bella’s incoherent screams were muffled in the fact that she was getting hugged by Tonks. The other two Black sisters in the compartment were staring openly. Bella ranted and screamed and raved again and again about how Tonks had no right to call the Dark Lord a Halfblood. About how she was a failure.

Tonks held on.

“You’re the spawn of my sister letting _dirty blood_ inside of her!”

“The Dark Lord is the spawn of Merope Gaunt letting dirty blood inside of her…”

Bellatrix, pinned in the corner, was hysteric. Several times both of her sisters prepared to intervene, but backed down at a gesture from Tonks, who ignored the fists when they came out a few times. Vampires were rugged.

Finally, she calmed, and sank into a heap, crying softly with tears streaked red with blood.

Tonks brushed herself off and settled back down on the bench next to Bellatrix, smiling proudly, though she, too, was crying. “I choose my own battles, I choose my own course. I’ve chosen to love every person that I’ve loved in my life. I chose to marry Remus and have a child with him. Mum, thank you for supporting me every step of the way.” She looked very serious, then. “Bellatrix took a choice, and a future, away from me. But now that we’ve got that out of the way, I intend to go right on choosing for myself. I have agency in this. I’m not helpless. But I think Bellatrix very nearly is. Everything she built her life around is gone. But we’re going to be alright. _I_ will take care of _her_ , for both of you.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They settled in Bendery, commonly called Bender in the west. It was the optimal city, really. It was even _less_ under anyone’s control than Tiraspol, because the Joint Control Commission was in charge of the city nominally—the Russian backed peacekeeping regime—except the local government was _de facto_ aligned to and integrated with Transnistria. So it was a part of Transnistria partially independent from the government of that unrecognised Republic—it might as well be twice autonomous.

The population was only 100,000 or so in the metropolitan region under the control of Transnistria, but the fortress of Tighina on the Dniestr river and the lack of other vampires made it, after a fashion, both idyllic and splendid. That everyone was completely behind the times and crowding into cheap discotheque instead of playing computer games—there was no real functional internet—only made it more quaint.

And, the economy was awful. The original population had been nearly 140,000; the rest had fled with the war. This had made obtaining housing stock almost trivial, such that Andy and Cissy had more trouble hiring local muggles to repair the houses, and importing household goods to furnish them with, than they did with actually obtaining them. The question of a longer term supply of funding for the two witch-vampires was one that would have to be discussed by Narcissa alone, who remained three days later when Andy returned to London to be, as promised, with her grandson.

Tonks had cried for most of the next few days, knowing that her mother was going back to her son, and she was not. Then she had pulled herself together, and started to make the most of her days. Bella, for her part, was reserved and quiet. She watched in a kind of bemused daze, and read the books from Narcissa’s library. A single full feeding could keep a vampire going for weeks, but it required the equivalent of a human’s full quantity of blood.

It was Tonks who made the agreement with the local abbattoirs and forced Bella to drink it. At first, with Bella so depressed, she went along with it. They set up a business, saying they were processing blood as an ingredient in paint. She cited several vampires known to wizarding society who had done the same to fit in, and reform themselves. Bella was not happy with it.

Narcissa focused on getting a workable source of income for them. She discovered there was a “Kvint” winery and distillery for the famed local brandy being formed, and decided that would be a handy investment opportunity. It was now summer and the beaches were quite pleasant, even if the beach-wear was rather ghastly. It got her away from Tonks and Bellatrix for a while, and she thought she needed that.

But sooner or later, as time simply quieted Bella’s despair with having failed Voldemort, she became more restless with her new nature. Inevitably, that made her clash with Tonks.

Narcissa was still there to witness it. They had knocked together several houses into one, but the work was continuing in other sections into make a reasonably up-scale residence for her relatives. _Relatives._ She was going to give Andy’s daughter a chance on this. She would have to, since Bellatrix was now responsible for her.

Or was it Tonks was responsible for Bellatrix?

She stepped into the parlour, under old paintings and traditional woodwork salvaged from a dozen sources, to see the two standing, arms crossed, staring at each other.

“You snuck off to a disco last night, I can smell it in our bond. But, you didn’t kill, or else I’d have already drawn my wand,” Tonks was accusing her aunt. Dressed in black leather, with pink hair, as in her younger days, she did make a rather convincing vampire. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“You _thought_ we had an agreement,” Bellatrix snapped back. “I wanted _real_ food. You Order types were ghastly moralisers under Dumbledore’s influence and now you want to lead me into being some kind of – vegetarian vampire! We’re _meant_ to feed on the blood of people, and I figured out the process for it too. Your saliva heals wounds magically,” she smirked triumphantly. “So you can close the wound you make with your fangs, afterwards. It makes it very easy to take some blood without killing a person. I won’t be causing any problems, because I didn’t get caught.”

“So… Using magic to manipulate muggles into giving up some of their lifeblood to you.”

“Exactly, it’s very easy, it’s even wandless.”

It looked like there was going to be a fight between the two, but Tonks flashed a wink to Cissy, before stepping forward. She was confronted with Bella’s wand. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“What are _you_ planning to do?”

“Give you a hug,” Tonks answered. Bella stood and stared dumbly at her, so Tonks reached out and did exactly what she had promised—she gently brushed her wand aside, and gave her a hug. “It’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”

“I… What!?”

“Having someone who’s supposed to get set off by you, have a nice big screaming match, maybe throw a few hexes, and she just gives you a hug instead? A little scary, huh?”

“I’m not going to _stop doing what’s natural for me,”_ Bellatrix hissed, her fangs bared. “Nor should _you,_ if you value your existence. This is what we _are_ now.”

“If I have no choice, I will,” Tonks acknowledged. “Just like you gave me no choice in being a vampire.”

Bellatrix shook herself loose, staring in a mixture of disgust and frustration at her niece. “Then why don’t you just _feed,_ you ridiculous girl?”

“Because I want to at least _try_ for something better.”

Bella spun away, and fled. She left behind Tonks staring wryly after her.

“You deal with that very well,” Narcissa couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll give you Hufflepuffs this—you know how to diffuse an incipient fight.”

Tonks smiled with a wry fondness, as if she were thinking of classmates—who she would likely never see again. “I suppose we do.”

“Is it really wrong of her to drink human blood?” Narcissa asked. “I mean, _really._ The muggles aren’t dying, they mostly replenish it over the night.”

“It could just as easily be a wizard, Aunt Cissy,” Tonks answered. “I ask you to think about that.” She stepped over to the windows, and looked out to the darkness and moonlight beyond. “It’s hard,” Tonks acknowledged, with her voice breaking. “Even around you. Even around my mother. But the people I’ve interacted with so far? It’s _hard._ Cow’s blood is dismal. I just wanted to be better than …”

“Better than what’s natural for what you are? My dear, Bella was on the borderline of starvation for fourteen years in Azkaban. Have you considered just what a challenge it is for her in comparison to you, whose parents kept you from want, to resist the ability to eat decently? Or drink, as the case may be…” Narcissa stepped up to her side, peering at her pallid flesh. “One could say you don’t look particularly healthy, while Bellatrix has managed to get back a certain glow. And, your mother made Bella promise that she would take care of you. Imagine how she feels, being responsible for you, when you’re starving yourself for an ideological point.”

Tonks forced herself to take a breath, just so she could breath it out again as a sigh. “That’s why I’m trying to be compassionate. But you’re right. I’m still trying to make her be more like me. Because I’m scared. She has power over me. I can feel it. But she hasn’t used it yet. She could hurt people, kill people—I don’t know if I could stop her. I want her to agree to ground rules…”

“So that you feel like you’re not betraying your cause? All well and good, but her cause is,” Cissy’s lips twisted into a grimace for a moment, “not Voldemort anymore, but just a hot meal that tastes good in her stomach.”

Tonks reached up and gently put a single finger to the window. “Somewhere on the other side of that glass is the world I fought for. It doesn’t seem like I’m ever going to be a part of it.”

“When you take the night flight from Chisinau for the first time to see your child, I don’t think you will believe so much that you are not a part of the world you fought for. But Bella has _nothing_ like that. She doesn’t even have the satisfaction of victory.”

“Nor should she.”

“Those in the wrong hurt all the same,” Narcissa shrugged. “You understand. I know you do. As you say you are claiming your own agency, I ask you to extend the consideration to Bella, as well. As long as she isn’t hurting people, let her feed on them without resistance. Let her come to her own moral choices. She has never experienced that in her entire life. Nobody ever gave her that chance before. From Queen Mary and Lady Cromwell to Grindelwald, all those who have tried to compel morality have just ended up doing more damage to their cause than victories they have had to record.”

“How the devil do you sound so wise, for someone who supported the Death Eaters?”

“Because we all had our reasons. I stood for tradition, for worshipping the Gods who gave us power, for worshipping the land, for practising magic according to our traditions, for speaking our Brittonic tongue. For preserving the role of purebloods in society. But I believe such a society gives all of us freedom. Preserves us all, in our places. You may disagree with it—but I did fear the Dark Lord’s power the entire time. I did not want him to rule our lives. I had to dance a careful path to save my husband, my son, our family’s pride and position. To exert as much influence in the Pureblood cause as possible, and then to save as much as I could when it fell,” Narcissa explained. She wondered, as she did, if she were being self-serving. _Likely, but I think you have some claim to honesty as well._ “Do you not believe that your foe can be honest?”

“Voldemort only ever wanted power and immortality for himself,” Tonks answered. “If I grant you what you claim, that means you were deluding yourself. Tremendously.”

Narcissa nodded, and looked toward the sky in the west. “Well, yes. I won’t bother denying the point; it would be an infamous lie.”

Tonks snorted, but smiled. “You talk so posh, just like mum does. Did you know that almost nobody in the world would call something an ‘infamous lie’?”

“Well, I am civilised.”

“You know what would be really cool, what would really bring back the old culture and the old ways?” Tonks said abruptly, turning toward Cissy. “Instead of hiding away, why don’t you fund organisations to teach Cumbric to muggles. Why don’t you promote the worship of the Brittonic Gods to them? Instead of dividing people by race and class and watch it dwindle away year by year, even most of the purebloods now are Christians and few speak the Celtic languages or Old English or what have you, why not… Reach out so that someday young little muggle-born wizards and witches arriving at Hogwarts speak Cumbric as their first tongue again? So that instead of a few isolated families, there’s a healthy growing culture in the wizarding community, and the muggle community around us?”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, forcing down the instinctive angry reply. “Because it’s ‘just not done’,” she acknowledged.

“And that’s why it’s hard to take your defence of your path seriously.” Tonks shrugged. “Still, you _are_ right, even if I don’t think you really applied it to yourself. I will … Give Bellatrix the space she needs.”

“Thank you.” Narcissa paused for a moment, and then smiled. “Tonks, dear, don’t feel bad if you give in yourself. I want you to be healthy. Most of the time, you’ll be all Bella has here. _Take care of yourself._ ”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonks remembered very well Narcissa’s words on the day she gave in and drank from a living human being for the first time. Since her official identity was as a woman, taking a male form helped; it was an enormous effort for her vampiric magic, but she had managed to coax enough of one, not a complete male form, but enough of one, to do the job reliably; seduce a cute girl, take her to bed and leave her with a pleasant feeling when she woke up in the morning, light-headed, to fill in the memories.

She forced herself not to feel guilty. She marvelled at how the fresh and hot blood from human veins reinvigorated her magic and her body. It lasted until Bellatrix grinned at her, and she felt guilty all over again.

The guilt faded on the night that they signed the contract to take over a nightclub to make for an easier feeding ground. Soon enough, they owned four in Bender, and two more in Tiraspol. Tonks gave in and made her peace with the fact she was a vampire.

One way to keep people safe from Bella, after all, was to feed on them with her. Many men would go for two attractive women at once; it made it very easy to feed. They learned how to control their emotions, and how to choose whether or not to inject the toxins which made feeding pleasurable.

It was after one of those nights, full of pent-up energy, restless and eager from the blood, two bisexual women, maybe a little worked up; but Bella never willing to even think of sleeping with a muggle, now especially that they were what she dismissively called _mortal muggles—_ food incarnate—and one could tell her frustration, and Tonks didn’t understand the point of celibacy anymore, if she was going to be like this forever…

They shared each other’s blood that night. It was the most amazing experience Tonks had ever had. They shared more than that, but Tonks wasn’t sure if the sex or the sharing of blood had been the most important part. It all blended together into pleasure.

The next day, both of them felt guilty for different reasons. They didn’t talk to each other for a week. But then they just sort of fell together, and did it again, and again, and again. They never called each other a couple and they never said they were in love, but they started to act more and more like one, by a comfortable consensus.

Tonks was very thankful that Bella had never used the powers in her blood to compel anything from Tonks. She kept her promise to Andy. Lovers, aunt and niece… Something of mother and daughter in their blood bond. To vampires, these words meant different things. They were not wrong to mingle. Tonks began to feel truly safe with Bella.

Years were passing by, and neither of them aged. Of course.

It was in 2003, when he was 5, that Andy and Tonks agreed that Teddy was ready to handle the truth about his mother—and help keep it a secret from his Godfather.

It was in 2003, that Bellatrix found a loner. She was an older vampire than either of them, but she had no coven. Her background could not be more different than their own.

But Bella saw something in her, and in the end, Tonks agreed.

And it was in 2003 that Hermione Granger came to Transnistria for the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to investigate a dragon egg smuggling ring in Britain whose shipments had originated there. Since it was an unrecognised country without its own formal ministry, they gave her a regular British government official passport, UN Special Rapporteur status, and a first class ticket from Heathrow to enter the unrecognised country like a muggle, on the British Airways red-eye to Bucharest.

In the magical world, fate sometimes liked to play strange tricks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is taken from Al Stewart's song "Midas Shadow". It seems quite appropriate for Bellatrix.
> 
> The next chapter results in a time skip, and the introduction of Hermione... But it will also go more into Tonks' and Bella's relationship. I'm not just briefly hinting at it.


	6. The Night Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY apologies for failing to get this out on time. I hope the content makes up for it! The next update will be on Wednesday as usual!

**The Night Flight**

Night in Bendery. This was _her_ city now. She had never had anything else of her own in her life. Rod had taken that from her. She had ceased to be a Black, and become a Lestrange. Her idiot, muggle-loving, motorcycle-riding cousin had been the heir to the House of Black, simply because the Fates had given him a prick (that they had made him one as well was just a further irritation!).

Of course, served him right, for Rodolphus Lestrange was rotting in Azkaban, and she was not rotting, and had Bendery. Others might consider her exile a miserable fate, but Bellatrix felt she had made the best of it. Bloodlust had settled into a comfortable plan for feeding, and Bellatrix, pretending to be a businesswoman by the name of Slavka Chernova, frequently was entertained by Igor Smirnov, the leader of Transnistria, not like she cared a whit for a muggle.

No, instead it wasn’t uncommon for her to walk along the banks of the Dniestr river at night, settling in to the idea that she still existed. It felt very odd, in a way that was not easily described, as she heard the fates of all of the other Death Eaters, and the very few who escaped serious punishment, her sister’s husband among them.

Instead of all that, Bellatrix had her freedom. She had all the time that she wanted, to adapt to the life she’d claimed for herself. She slipped through the darkness as if it were her home, and slowly began to re-learn magic as a Vampire.

In Bendery, of course, Vampire society was defined by her and Tonks. If there had been anyone else here, they had fled during the war, or been driven out before that time. She had once been the Brightest Witch of Her Age; she could teach herself how the subtle-arts were changed when one lived on the blood of others.

She had learned enough about how to live that her and Tonks could keep the night in order. The criminals knew to be afraid. They had their own point in making this city, twice-unrecognised, into a reasonably stable and peaceful place. The nearest Vampire covens were in Chisinau and Odessa, and the Odessa one was the larger of the two; when travelling through Chisinau, Tonks stayed in the train station (there were more vampires in Bucharest, but it was a substantial enough city that as long as she didn’t hunt, they didn’t bother her) and all was well.

So the only problem was loners. Drifters. The vampires who didn’t want a stable, managed feeding ground. They wanted to kill. Bella and Tonks had discovered the first in their city in the spring of 2000. They managed to save the stripper walking home from her club that he’d gutted; he certainly hadn’t expected any other vampires to be using magic. One thing they had learned was that it was rare to be both a witch and a member of the undead. After all, it was a violent act—normally. A witch or a wizard could fight off a vampire.

Most Dark Lords sought other methods of immortality, it seemed. Bellatrix didn’t blame them, but she was gradually forgetting the sun, and content with it.

Tonight, though, that just guaranteed that she was the predator, and the vampire she was hunting, the prey. Tonks had sensed another of their kind when she was feeding in Tiraspol the night before. Bella had picked her up that night. Vampires could, distantly, sense each other. Bella meant very much to end this threat to her hunting grounds then and there, that night.

Her bent wand crackled in her hand with the more subtle magic that she had regained. Years of practice had returned her composure as a witch. If the flow of life responded to her more distantly, she also had a better understanding of subtly in the fickle threads of nature that her powers still commanded.

And after Azkaban, she had no fear. The spell ready to be whispered on her lips was a fire spell, which against an unprepared vampire could be just as dangerous as an _Avada Kedavra._

At least, ducking under the pillars of the rail bridge across the Dniestr, she saw her opponent. The figure was draped in a heavy Army coat, but was relatively slight; not much taller than Bella herself. _Hmmf._ It was rare enough for Loners to be women. Usually women found themselves in a coven, sooner or later.

 _And sometimes had no choice in the matter._ Vampire bonds were strong, and of course, male vampires frequently used them to dominate the women they brought across. Her eyes could make out the swift turning of the woman; she could see a braid whipping about behind her. There was no growl or other challenge.

Just a click.

Bella had her wand. The other vampire had a muggle _gun,_ and that made Bella nearly sneer in contempt, except most vampires wouldn’t have bothered and it implied some level of intelligence on the part of the other woman. “Is this your city?” The distant figure asked flatly, in Russian.

“Bendery is mine,” Bella answered immediately. “And you are the trespasser. So put it down.”

“And invite my own end? I think not.”

“I’m not afraid of a _gun._ ”

“Perhaps you should be,” the woman shrugged. “The bullets are silver, friend. I won’t stay long, and I didn’t mean to fight. I would have avoided the city if I known it was your’s, but, I intend to leave it unmolested.”

“And at a wave of my hand, I could immolate you.”

The other vampire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a _witch,_ ” she hissed. “Well, that’s rare enough. Unlucky, you were, to die like this.”

“I don’t consider it being dead,” Bella smirked, and took a step forward along the beach. “Put the gun down, and I’ll sheath my wand, too.”

There was a silence, and then the other vampire shrugged, and in a blur of motion, spun and holstered the revolver in her hand. Bellatrix nodded and reciprocated the gesture, but slowly and deliberately. “With your gesture of trust to me, I’ll let you go on. You haven’t killed anyone in Bendery or Tiraspol, so I’ll grant you your life.”

“I have no life to be granted.”

Most vampires adapted to the idea that their life was a second life, a new life. This woman seemed stubborn in insisting she was _dead._ “Well, we _are_ dead,” Bellatrix agreed with a laugh. “But we’re also standing here under a bridge, talking. So take your existence as how you like it. Tell me your name, stranger?”

“What will it hurt… Valentina Syromakha. Your’s?”

“That’s a complicated story.”

“I have time,” Valentina laughed. “Isn’t that the one thing being dead has really gained us? Time?”

“I like to think it’s also a life. I hope you’re not some kind of angst-ridden depressive,” Bella laughed, and took a step closer.

“Hardly. I am a killer.”

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. “But you didn’t kill.”

“Nobody here deserved it. Why do you come closer?”

“I suppose I’m curious. My lover and I don’t get many visitors.”

“No allied covens?”

“I didn’t know covens could be allied with each other,” Bellatrix countered.

That prompted the other woman to step out of the shadows, into the dim moonlight. “You don’t know that covens can ally with each other? Where the hell did you come from? Who brought you across?”

“Not your business.” _Nobody needs to know that._ “Indeed, what is a loner doing who cares about the goings-on of covens?”

Valentina walked straight up to her now, and she saw the dark hair, the blue eyes, the battered face, Vampiric life not having come soon enough to her to keep some hardness—drugs, starvation, suffering—from having touched her. And she had never made an effort, it seemed, to use her innate powers to craft her flesh and change that. There were grey streaks in her hair.

Bella had to admit, she was much too vain for that. She also knew enough about the local culture… “Valentina, you don’t give me your patronymic?”

“I won’t sully my father’s name like that. And you won’t give me your name at all.”

 _Stupid witch. I’m sure this will just be trouble._ But Bellatrix hadn’t gotten to be the Brightest Witch of Her Age without being curious about things. “Come to my estate. I’ll give you hospitality.”

Valentina laughed, but her eyes seemed to widen with a gentle hint of unexpressed emotion. “Well, if you like, I do rather appreciate the chance to be entertained.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andy Tonks squeezed and held her daughter as tightly as she could. It was the old house, and it was oh, so very, very different than when she came to Transnistria on vacation. There, Bella insisted on treating her like a Queen. Here, it was just Andy and her daughter and Teddy… And Teddy, of course, was a growing boy who had to get his sleep. Tonks would stay up all night—she had to—but she had to put her son to bed, and much too soon, too.

He had been raised to be magical, and dealt with it quite well, swearing his secrecy in an immensely serious tone. Tonks couldn’t help but cry at the way his hair changed colour; he was everything she had hoped, and it made the separation hurt all the more. Andy had brought him every time when he was too young to remember, of course, but the gap of several years until he was old enough to understand why he should not tell anyone about his mum had been unbearable for Tonks.

That left Andy to grab her daughter and hold her tight while the bloody tears gently rolled down her face. She couldn’t get enough, really, and her little girl, her little Dora, was rugged now. She could hold her as hard as she possibly could, and it just made Dora smile through her tears. “I wish I had more time with him,” Tonks admitted. “When he wakes up, I’ll stay up past sunrise as long as I can.”

“Six days,” Andy sighed. “Six days. That’s all we have.”

“Until the next time you come on vacation to Transnistria. Now you can leave whenever you want to. Teddy’s old enough to fly with you… Three vacations a year, now?” She hazarded, and steered her mother to sit with her on the couch. It was a new one, of course, possessions didn’t last forever, but it was still in the same place. There was still the telly that Andy had never bothered upgrading, though, considering that only her da’ had really watched it.

“I think we can make three a year work out, yes.” Andy did have a bit of a nest egg at this point. She had retired from the Ministry to raise Teddy full-time as a single parent, but twenty-five years had qualified her for a pension and with Tonks’ dad, they had been very frugal about investing in Gringotts.

“Good.” Tonks smiled faintly. “There will be someone there for you to meet when you come next time.”

“...Oh? You didn’t, uhm…”

“No, we didn’t create another one of us, Gods, I’m not sure I could bring myself too,” Tonks shook her head quickly. “We _found_ a loner. A sane one, well, at least, as sane or saner than Bella. I never thought Bella would tolerate another vampire of muggle origins, she was so haughty about it when she found out they mostly weren’t wizards. But something in Valentina’s dedication made Bella decide that we were going to adopt her into the coven…

“I’ve _got_ to hear this.”

Tonks couldn’t help but grin as she started the story.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh yes, there was something about realising that their house-guest had, before she had become a vampire, been a muggle, that tickled Tonks immensely. Coming back from one of the clubs, since had been astonished to sense the presence of a third vampire in the house, let alone in circumstances where there wasn’t already a fight in progress. But Krossy the House Elf—one of three that Narcissa had helped arrange, despite Tonks’ discomfort (she had grown up with none, but Narcissa, of course, insisted on making sure that her sister was well cared for at all costs)--assured her there was noting violent. “Mistress Bella and her new friend have been talking for hours…”

 _New friend._ But that immediately cued Tonks in to the fact that she wasn’t a witch. Otherwise, it would have been “mistress” for her as well. _What’s Bella gotten herself up to…_

That was answered a moment later, as Tonks stepped down into the sunken living room. Two heads swivelled.

“My partner, Tonks.”

The second woman blinked at the name, but smiled politely nonetheless. She was drawn up inside of a coat, and seemed very lean. “Valentina,” she introduced herself after a moment’s thought. “I can’t say, growing up, I would have approved of your relationship, but I’ve learned it doesn’t really matter among vampires, and we all have more important things that we’re going to Hell for.”

The line made Bella start cackling. Valentina couldn’t help but curl her lips into a small grin. Tonks rolled her eyes and waved. “As long as you don’t have some kind of gay panic if I kiss her in front of you, it’s good,” she offered as she couldn’t help but saunter over to the one settee and sit next to her aunt-mother-lover-whatever (it was best not to think too hard about their relationship and just accept that it was there).

“Go ahead.” But the smile faded away, and Valentina leaned back into the couch on which she sat. “I’ve seen worse, when I was in Shanghai.”

Tonks kicked her boots off, folded her legs up on the couch, and leaned back. One of the Elves hastily returned them to the boot rack by the front door. The younger witch could see by the rapid way that Valentina’s eyes flicked that she had followed even the imperceptible act of one of the elves, but she said nothing.

Tonks thought she liked the woman. “What were you doing in Shanghai?”

“Dying. By inches,” she answered dully. Her eyes were a thousand-metre stare, then. “You witches don’t understand anything of it, do you? It was the 1920s. Our Russian, Christian civilisation was over. We were a bunch of exiles in China—enervated, hopeless, desperate, the first white people the Chinese could boss around. We had nothing. Some invented wild schemes to get rich. Some invented wild schemes to reclaim Russia with the help of the Japanese. Most were just waiting to die.”

She grinned, and showed her fangs. “I sold my soul for revenge.”

Actually, now, Tonks was terrified of the woman. In fact, the guns, the daggers, the stare. This vampire was probably as dangerous as any could be without a witch’s magic. With their magic not the same as it was, she might be a real threat. Especially if Bella let her guard down.

But there was no indication of violence. Instead, Valentina fixed them both with their distant stare. “I fought in the Women’s Battalion—I was helping raise the Women’s Black Hussars of Death when the second Revolution happened. I was the daughter of a Cossack officer. We fought for our way of life, our customs, for our Russia. We fought hard, we fought well—we made the Bolsheviki pay for every _verst._ We lost. Then I was a drug-addled whore in Shanghai. A whispered word in an alley; a prayer to the boddhisattva of War. I don’t know. I was given my chance. I took it. I sold my soul. I became a creature of hell—but the war had already made me one. I used my vampirism to kill every communist I found.”

She tossed back her head and laughed darkly. “It didn’t work. They fell for their own reasons, after more than seventy years of Hell laid our country low. And now look at this shit—the corruption, the crassness, the degeneracy of culture, the oligarchs, the mobsters, we were a people of religion, of culture, of dance, of customs dating back before we had our worship of God—now we squat in alleys in American tracksuits. That’s what the end of communism bought me. Seeing my people like _that._ I killed and I reaped for _nothing._ ”

Tonks felt horrified, but then she thought about who her aunt was. Bellatrix had done all the same things that Valentina’s story implied—and arguably, with much less reason.

Bellatrix looked levelly at her guest. “I think we have a lot in common,” she acknowledged. “You’re a loner, why?”

“Revenge was my objective, she who brought me across humoured it, and died in the American firebombings of Japan, anyway,” Valentina answered sharply. “That’s that. But I’m different than the other loners. I only kill those who have earned it. Or, in the case of vampires, those I am paid enough to kill.” She tipped a mock salute. “In fact, I can safely say that if you want to hire me, I will take care of your enemies for you. But I think you have slid under the radar enough here that you don’t have enemies to send me against. So I have told you my story, as fair payment for safe passage.”

“What if I welcomed you to live here with us?”

Valentina froze. Tonks saw the earnestness of her loneliness. She turned to her aunt, and despite the differences in background, recognised that Bella saw Valentina for what she was—a kindred spirit.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So we invited her to stay with us,” Tonks finished the story. “I suppose that’s finally the moment where being a vampire has really … struck home. She’s been one for more than eighty years now. Ultimately as hard as she tried, spending herself for her cause proved impossible. She gave up and accepted what she was. Became, well, a vampire mercenary. I think Bella really feels common cause with her. They’ve both been disillusioned to beliefs which drove them to be violent. Valentina sometimes, uhm, expresses really problematic views about groups of people, but… Honestly, she’s got more legitimate reasons for her attitudes than Bella does.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Andy shook her head wryly, and swallowed. “So you just… Accepted her into the family?”

“Not quite yet. Apparently, that involves, uhm,” Tonks grinned wryly, “Well, it involves Bella feeding from Valentina, to remake her blood. And that’s a very big step. A kind of Vampiric magical adoption.”

“...She’s too conservative for that with two other women?”

“Actually it’s not that! It’s not sex mum, honestly. That’s, uhm, different. Or rather it doesn’t have to be. It’s more like we’re still evaluating each other. I think, personally, she’s still getting used to the idea that someone might actually accept her. She’s said that only vampire males who wanted her as part of their harem have ever offered before. And she doesn’t really _love._ But she trusts us as women, and she’s started to trust Bella as someone else who spent herself for a cause, sacrificed herself, and got nothing for it. Not even the satisfaction of victory. I don’t know; I hope the way she’s moved on will be healthy for Bella. As much as I was outright terrified of her when she first came, mum, she’s starting to grow on me, at least a member of the coven. She doesn’t murder innocents, she’s ferociously protective. And a very wry sense of humour, too. Maybe I just don’t want to spend all of eternity with only Bella, though. That might be a bit much.”

Her mother, who had gotten over the idea of her sister and her daughter being a thing, at least officially, smiled wryly. “I won’t blame anyone for needing quality time in their life with someone other than Bella. She is a handful. And I’m proud of you for welcoming this Valentina as a friend. Maybe her being around really will help Bella. I don’t think she’s ever really confronted the war, what happened, what she did, the consequences of losing.”

“No, she hasn’t; but as strange as it is, I do think that at some level she knows that she has to.” Nymphadora Tonks leaned into her mother, and very much did not regret that her aunt had given her this strange life. It beat being dead.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was nighttime in Heathrow. Hermione was dressed in a stiff, crisp pantsuit. She had her roll-on suitcase, her purse with the diplomatic passport in the side pouch. The AMT Coffee latte sitting on the armrest in the First Class Lounge. The copy of the Arthur C. Clarke novel _Trigger_ (well, ghost-written with Kube-McDowell, but whatever) tucked in next to her for the flight.

The Blackberry in hand, clicking away. She wasn’t the only one with one of those.

_Harry, thanks but no. I have no idea how long I’ll be in Transnistria._

_Well, Ron seems to think that you’ll be back in a fortnight._

A sigh.

_I’ll be back when I’m done. This mission is important – this is a major smuggling cartel, and Transnistria is legally ungoverned in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. It might take a very long time._

_I get it. In fact, I wish that you had an Auror with you for security and to help with the investigation. It’s ridiculous that you’re travelling alone as a ministry official, under the cover of muggle authorities._

_No, it’s not ridiculous,_ her fingers hammered against the little keys. _I’ve got United Nations observer status. On the Wizarding side, MinKol was notified in advance, too, and the Russians have accepted responsibility for keeping any violations of the statute from happening in Transnistria, so there’s SOME authority there._ She looked at the wedding ring on her finger and shook her head softly. At first, it had been hard. Ron’s expectations were totally different. They’d been through two rounds of marriage counselling—and just finding a marriage counsellor was hell, in the end they’d had to pay for one to come from the USA, and they’d gotten into a fight over the finances of it—and he had sort of come to accept that no, it wasn’t idle dreaming on Hermione’s part, she was really going to be the damned Minister.

And he… Wasn’t. Unlike Harry, his Auror career was in a slow, long, drawn-out process of stalling. His brothers were talking about the Joke Shop. The _goddamned Joke Shop._ Hermione could tell he really wanted to be there. She was trying to convince herself it was okay.

But, honestly, rather than deal with that, she’d put on a muggle pantsuit, picked up a muggle blackberry (Harry and the other Aurors used them now, specially enchanted like her’s to avoid violations of the statute, to coordinate with muggle police authorities when they were needed. So Harry was still a natural go-to), and taken an open-ended mission to an unrecognised country in the former Soviet Union.

_I just worry. You’re my closest friend, Mione. Ron worries too. That’s all it is. He’s seen plenty as an Auror, and ‘unrecognised Balkan country’ has all kinds of warning signs. I mean, the Muggle world is as dangerous as all hell. You remember 9/11._

_It’s not really in the Balkans,_ Hermione tapped back. _And I’ll never forget it, yeah. But it’s not like I’m looking for dragon egg smugglers in Nuristan or Kandahar, Harry! Peacekeepers have been enforcing a cease-fire for more than a decade in Transnistria. Just assure Ron that I know what to do. I’ll make the transfer flight to Chisinau, meet with officials from their muggle government and their ministry, and then travel to the frontier. Someone from Russian MinKol will meet me there. Her name is Larissa Naryshkina, she’s the ranking MinKol official in Tranistria._

_Well, since there’s no Floo connections, will you have a signal there?_

_Likely. I have international data,_ the automated voice announced boarding for her flight, and Hermione hastily started to get up, finishing the latte and tossing the cup in the bin as she gathered out the rest of her things, trying to finish the message one-handed: _I will keep in touch with you and Ron daily. And I’ve got to go now. We’re boarding. Ta!_

She put the phone in airplane mode, and scanned her boarding card at the scanner. There were not many people in line for First Class on the red-eye flight from Heathrow to Bucharest. Mostly, it was a lot of Romanians working in the UK thanks to their status as a country in the EU admissions process, going home to visit family or for whatever other reasons. They were almost all in coach. _Time to read a book…_

But not really exactly time to lose herself in the book, not yet, unfortunately. There was the whole take-off announcement, and everything else. So she could only really settle down to read once they were at ten thousand feet or so. That meant there was time for a drink before takeoff to loosen up a bit—coffee to stay awake, alcohol to relax, it was a bad combination in the long term, but she didn’t exactly get on an aeroplane often, either, being a witch.

As for the selection… Other women might bow to social pressure and get a glass of white wine in first class on the night flight. That was ‘safe’.

Hermione smiled brightly to the Stewardess. “I’d like the Drambuie Speyside 15-yr. On the rocks.”

Hermione was getting tired of all the people trying to make her life ‘safe’.

It seemed like it was going to be a pretty normal red-eye and a pretty normal British Airways flight. With luck, she’d even have her half of the row in First Class to herself. She held that belief through the first few sips of Drambuie.

Then someone dressed as smartly as she was stepped into the cabin a few minutes before they closed the door, when the coach (or economy, but whatever) had finished boarding. Hermione sighed.

Then did a double-take, and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

_Maybe I’ll need more than one glass of Drambuie on this flight._

Her seat-mate looked hauntingly like Nymphadora Tonks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MinKol -- министерство колдовства Российской Федерации -- Ministerstvo koldovstva Rossiyskoy Federatsii -- Ministry of Witchcraft of the Russian Federation.
> 
> Women’s Battalions—A reference to the Women’s Battalion of Death and several related formations which were formed in 1917 and saw action in the Second Brusilov Offensive. They defended the Provisional Government during the October Revolution. The Women’s Black Hussars of Death was a proposed cavalry unit which never saw action.


	7. Into the Looking Glass

** Into the Looking Glass **

For a split second, Hermione thought she was just seeing things. Then, she saw the woman give an imperceptible jerk. Her eyes flickered. Hermione’s breath hitched. In that moment, she knew that she had been recognised. 

The woman finished moving to her seat. She was very stiff. She was pale, too.  The Stewardess came over quickly, of course, assuming that she was uncomfortable flying or something like that; she ordered a red wine and settled back. In appearance, she was one of those godawful platinum bleach blondes, an almost hideously fake colour that was lamentably popular in Eastern European; she had rather nondescript brown eyes but … 

_Wait wait wait those were Andromeda Tonks’ eyes just a second ago she totally changed them on me! She tried to get away with hiding. It’s Tonks, it’s Tonks, there’s a ghost sitting next to me. A ghost who just ordered red wine from a Stewardess on a British Airways flight._ Hermione gibbered a little mentally. 

No, a lot.

_What if you’re wrong. What if you just imagined it?_ She tried to look, unobtrusively, for any sign of a wand. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch the woman, to see if she were real. In the end, she forced herself to sit back, and slammed the rest of her Drambuie to distract herself. 

It left her in that horrible awkward position of being unsure whether or not you should start a conversation with your seat-mate on the aeroplane, except magnified a thousand times. Even take-off and climbing to cruising altitude seemed like an excruciating agony of waiting,  except resolving it faster wouldn’t solve anything, because that would just leave her in the same position that she was—unsure of what to say. 

T hey were gliding through clear air of an open night. There was no turbulence at all. The seatbelt sign went off. Her drink finished, Hermione got up. She went to the restroom—she brushed against the knees of the woman next to her along the way.

She looked up at Hermione with a plaintive, worried expression of her own. 

The woman’s knees were real. She was as solid as Hermione was. That left Hermione rather frantically staring at the mirror in the bathroom.  _Think, Hermione Jean Granger! Think! The world is magic. Anything is possible._

Hermione felt herself getting near shaking. She stared into the mirror and forced herself to calm down.  _Easy way to do this. Just act stupid if she says no. But you hate acting stupid. But you have to do it. Okay, Hermione, be a Gryffindor!_

She unlocked the door and stepped back out into the aisle, walking back to her seat, and stepping past the Tonks-not-Tonks again, and moved to sit in her seat and buckle her belt. She felt far too calm on the outside, far too anxious on the inside. “So, forgive me, but you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. In school. Her name was Nymphadora Tonks. Might you be related…?” 

_There we go..._

There was a moment of silence. Those brown eyes were staring at her. Then, very slowly, the woman nodded. “Yes. I’m a Tonks. I imagine you’re talking about my cousin. Unfortunately, I understand that she died in a motoring accident back in 1998.” 

“Oh…” _You idiot. That’s the daughter of Ted Tonks’ brother… I remember he had a brother, his name was Craig or something. He was in the military, and they were muggles, so… You just imagined the eyes._

“You were a school friend of Dora’s, then?” 

“I was,” Hermione answered in embarrassed shock and profound sheepishness. “But she was older than I am, passed out sooner. We lost touch. She was a really funny, uplifting person, who kept my spirits up in difficult times. I’m so sorry. May I ask your name?”

“Tamara,” the woman answered. “My mother’s Russian. Ethnically.” 

“Oh really! How interesting. I did know that Craig travelled overseas often.” Now, Hermione was trying to finish calming down, and pivot to actually talking about Tonks with Tonks’ muggle cousin, because the woman deserved that, and because she was generally interested. She might be a really cool person, even. “Are you going to Bucharest for business?”

“In fact, I’m travelling home. I’m just transferring from a plane to a train in Bucharest. There aren’t any airports near where I live, and this flight has a convenient train connection for me.” 

“How interesting. Actually, I’m making a connecting flight to Chisinau myself.” Even as Hermione spoke, she had this nagging feeling that all was not as it seemed. There was just something about the entire set-up. 

“Is that so?” The woman turned and looked straightaway at her. She had an intense magnetism, Hermione had to admit that. Like Tonks, but with a harder, sharper, stronger edge. “What’s your final destination?” 

“Well, that’s kind of complicated.” Technically Hermione should not be telling random strangers on the aeroplane. On the other hand, there was something electric about that gaze—and the reality was, officials from the Moldavian Ministry of Foreign Affairs would be meeting her at the airport in Chisinau, it was not like there was a lot of stealth or concealment that could actually be accomplished in that circumstance. Her mission was both official and not secret. 

“However,” Hermione continued after a moment, “it’s a fact-finding mission to the breakaway region of Transnistria. I work for Her Majesty’s Government, you see.” 

“Oh, I see.” Tamara had grown more stiff at the words, and Hermione frowned.

_She’s not happy about that at all._

“Well, I understand that you can’t discuss it very much. At any rate…” She was quiet for a moment. “Teddy Tonks. Dora’s daughter. He’s a very sweet lad, isn’t he?” 

Hermione knew a change-of-subject when she saw one. She also knew that it was best not to carry down this line, as she tried to think through what was going on. “Oh, you’ve  _met_ Teddy? He  _is, he is._ My best friend is his Godfather.” 

“Of course I have. Andromeda Tonks takes him to visit the family whenever she gets a chance. Fine woman, it’s a shame that she’s suffered so much…” 

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to lose your uncle and your cousin,” Hermione offered. 

“It was hell for a while,” ‘Tamara’ acknowledged. “But in the end, you cobble together what’s left of life, and you move on with it.” 

“Well, I’m glad that Teddy has more family around him. I’ve worried sometimes, too.”

“So have I,” the woman’s voice halted, and shuddered, and hitched. She froze a moment in the midst of a decision, and then turned quietly away. 

Hermione felt a bit terrible about dredging that up, but the entire situation still did not make sense to her. She sank back into her seat, however, and rather than cause a scene, went for her book. It was best to leave Tamara Tonks alone and try to figure this out later.  Another Drambuie helped a great deal with this.

But it wouldn’t leave her head,  anyway . Not even when the woman got up, collected her bag, and left just ahead of Hermione, hastily going for customs in the pre-dawn darkness, while Hermione remained inside the secured zone in the airport to board her next flight to Chisinau. No, as the woman walked away, Hermione felt she was essentially  _Tonks._ There was something about her walk, her confidence, you didn’t necessarily ever recognise Tonks by appearance alone. 

If only she had decided to focus on a Mastery in Divination.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Valentina had  cleaned up well. Bellatrix gave her that. She was a magical creature, too, who used her own innate powers competently. But the pureblood witch felt a measure of hesitation at having her around anyway. Once, she had been a muggle. 

She was also intensely civilised, in a way where she could have sat down at Narcissa’s table and comported herself rightly. For a crossdressing professional killer, one would not expect it. In fact, even ‘cleaned up’, Valentina preferred men’s clothes, though she made no attempt to hide her womanhood and kept her hair long. But she was dressed in a smart (but certainly fake) Armani button-up and trousers, with an evening robe tossed over them. 

A hired killer. 

Bellatrix rationalised her scheme of welcoming her into the coven as being that of putting a skilled and experienced assassin, who was extremely knowledgeable about vampiric society, on permanent retainer. But the actual act of adopting someone into a coven was intensely intimate. Bellatrix had to admit to herself that she was uncomfortable about the idea of doing that to someone who  _had been_ a muggle. Tonks was one thing. Tonks was a half-blood. 

So had been her Master, her Dark Lord. A fact which, in admitting, still made Bellatrix feel rather sick. She sat down in her recliner in the living room, and reached for one of the books in the pile. It was a history of the Russian Civil War she’d been reading now for a few weeks since Valentina had come to them, trying to evaluate her background. Already, the woman had proved perfectly reliable for patrolling the city, so, it was easy enough to brush that off on her (she even addressed Bella as  _Vashe Blagorodie,_ and Bella was never so blind as to deny that she liked flattery) as a duty, and expect it to be done well.

Bellatrix had the heat cranked up high. Vampires were naturally cold, and if she wanted her body to be warm, to remember what warmth was like (even though being cold wasn’t uncomfortable for her,  _per se_ ), they needed external sources of heat to do it.  It was spring and it was not so cold outside, but the Dark Witch felt a certain existential uncertainty.

_Am I a witch, or a vampire?_

It was a simple question, but a whole set of actions unfolded from it. How to behave, what to prioritise. Was this about her and Tonks staying alive? Or was it a chance to make a completely new life? To become a power here? 

There had been times, many times perhaps, that Tonks had wanted to return to Britain on her own. Come up with a story to hide Bella. Each time, Bellatrix had convinced her to stay. Legally, in Britain, she was a Magical Creature, not a person, she couldn’t vote, she would be regulated by the Department, she wouldn’t have recourse to the Wizengamot… Here in Transnistria, they were power-brokers. 

Tonks didn’t want power, but she did want rights and dignity. So Bellatrix had won in the end, and avoided the complications and risks of her niece leaving. But each year had left her growing more fond for Tonks, and regretting the longing way she lived for the latest baby photos from her mother, the latest visit from Andy. 

Of course, the regret only went so far. She had even less when it came to Delphini, but Bella kept telling herself she had no choice. Nothing could be more supremely dangerous for her daughter than a connection with the regime of her father. The less she knew, the better, the happier she could grow up to be. 

Bellatrix sank into a reverie that was only broken by footsteps, perhaps hours later. “Your Nobleness?” 

Valentina.

Bella blinked and turned. With a short, polite bow, Valentina presented a giant golden goblet to her, filled with blood. They often drank it cut with wine, and a little bit of aconite, which prevented it from coagulating. Bloodwine. 

“You probably haven’t eaten,” she said precisely. “And I do believe that you rather need to.” 

Bellatrix took the goblet and cackled. “Are you being nice, or are you going to tell me bad news?” 

“All is quiet in Bendery,” Valentina answered, with a faint smirk. “However, I received a phone call from Tonks.” 

Bellatrix, of course, refused to have a phone. But in fact, Valentina had grown up with them—though they had apparently been extremely different then, Bellatrix didn’t know or care about the details—and so she now provided someone that Tonks could reach out to on her trip to Britain. Bella groaned, hand to her forehead after a gulp of the bloodwine. “Oh this should be wonderful. Go on.”

“A woman from the British Ministry of Magic is coming here, under the cover of being a member of the muggle British Government civil service. Her name is Hermione Granger. Apparently she was acquainted with Tonks, and Tonks managed to convince her, narrowly, that she was her own muggle cousin. By one of those hideous quirks of fate, they shared the same flight.”

“You wouldn’t understand, but in the magical world, such odd coincidences become a normal part of life. Fate, or fortune, but real nonetheless,” Bellatrix replied, her eyes narrowing. She felt stiff. _There is a real, very great risk here._

“I’ve seen enough of it on the battlefield,” Valentina replied, moving to sit, as well. “It’s strange how a tingle in your neck sends you diving the minute before a machine-gun sends a burst of rounds where you stood, or you remain alive while next to you, a man drops dead from the concussive shock of artillery bursting so close – you stand, they fall, the attack continues.”

“Mmmnn. If it was any more intense on a wizarding battlefield, I can’t say. I was too busy fighting in the moment,” She eyed the other vampire for a moment, at her impertinence over magical affairs. Valentina was polite, but also informal. _She assumes she is a trusted subordinate. Well, perhaps I’ll trust her._ “I have a past with Hermione Granger. Also, her best friend is the godfather of Tonks’ son. She may be coming to hunt us down.” 

“Shall Tonks remain loyal? I respect her, I’ve seen no sign, but I know that the two of you were on the opposite sides of your war.” 

Bellatrix gave in to her uncertainty and rage. “Fuck, I don’t know! This is a house of cards. Granger could send it toppling down. The answer is no – or yes! – Tonks, does she love me? We’re fucking, but I don’t know if she  _really_ cares or she’s just  _lonely._ When Cissy came up with this plan, this was supposed to be the most secure place on the planet for us!”  It hurt her to admit that Cissy might be wrong. It hurt her more to admit that Tonks might not really love her. 

“You have extensive local economic connections. MinKol is tightly linked with the Russian government. An international operation may still be impossible, assuming that’s what Granger is even here for. I would counsel caution, Your Nobleness. You don’t want to play your hand if her presence is, as you put it, one of this coincidences of the magical world.” 

Bella drained her goblet with a groan of frustration. Valentina, who didn’t have permission to order around the House Elves Cissy had arranged, yet, went and got her another, and one for herself, too. 

“That mudblood is going to fuck everything up,” Bellatrix grimaced, watching the Cossack woman return to her seat. “She’s very intelligent, you know! Unnaturally intelligent, for one of her breeding. I had her prisoner, and interrogated her during the war…”

“Tortured, you mean?” Valentina looked up from idly scuffing at her sleeve, and reached for her goblet.

Bella felt very put on, but she was not going to deny it. She nodded, once. “Yes, I tortured her.  Do you have a problem with it? ” 

“I have no opinion, Your Nobleness. But I like to be honest, and from my observations, you do as well. So I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” 

Bella kicked back and glared at the other woman for a moment, her legs crossed in her dress. “So like I said, she’s incredibly intelligent, as fearless as all the Gryffindors or moreso, and strong-willed. I couldn’t break her, and I can break anyone.  And the impertinent little whelp is coming here, and Tonks was with her. She knows. Or she at least suspects. ”

“She knows nothing about you being alive.”

“Hah, maybe.” Bellatrix wagged a finger at Valentina, getting a glint in her eyes.  “But she also definitely knows nothing about you. Do you think you can come up with some miserable sob story to explain Tonks?” She felt the thrill of an idea, of thinking her way out of a problem again. “You’re a muggle. She’s a muggle-born, she’ll be inclined to be sympathetic to you. Find a way to explain Tonks—say the Dark Lord enslaved you to serve him. She’s an elf-lover, vampires? She’ll try to find a way to redeem us.” 

“You seem like you know a lot about this woman, for her being a whelp of low birth, who you tortured, on the other side in a war.” 

Bella rolled her eyes. To her, the explanation was obvious and simple. “For all of that, she was one of the ‘Golden Trio’, she was Potter’s right-hand woman. I learned all I could about her, like I did about Potter and the Weasel boy, the better to deal with them.” Reaching for her goblet, she stared for a while off into the paintings on the wall. They were mostly muggle paintings, which didn’t move.  _Pity._

“Well, it is enough information for me to come up with something. I have worked my way into the confidence of others before, though I prefer to fight, not to corrupt. Even skulking in the dark, and I have done plenty of _that,_ is much preferable to that kind of venality.” 

“Don’t worry your pretty little blue eyes. Tonks would never let me hurt the mudblood. We just need to distract her, or better yet, turn her into an asset. That means she can’t know about me. I’ll stay inside. You and Tonks can hold down Bendery just fine; the two of us did it for quite some time without any trouble at all, and honestly, you’re a better vampire than I am. I’m just a witch.” She drained her second goblet. The alcohol was easily shaken off, and the blood was giving her a sense of energy. _I still can’t believe you tried to make us ‘vegetarian vampires’,_ she thought wryly of her niece. Now she had no idea just how much Tonks had already said… “Look, when Tonks gets to Bendery you will greet her and find out more about the situation, make it clear what the plan is, right?” Bellatrix was feeling disquieted by it all, even if they did have a plan.

“Of course, Your Nobleness.” Valentina rose, and looked around at the paintings, and then stepped in front of Bellatrix, folded her arm in front of her waist, and bowed politely. “Lady Bellatrix, you are in possession of the Night of two cities—Bendery and Tiraspol. You are rich. There are no challengers for your coven. You are gracious to those under you. Like Aeneas in Italia, with all of the legacy of Troy behind him, who burned his boats; I beg you to not stay beholden to your past. You are the last free Death Eater. Make the black earth of Moldavia your home. Make yourself a Queen among Vampires. I will divert this girl for you, as you have commanded, Your Nobleness. But please don’t use her to plot against your old homeland. It will do your honour and memory no good to face a hundred thousand wizards in a war for revenge. You lack nothing.”

_ Fuck. She’s serious about this.  _ Bellatrix closed her eyes. She remembered being Voldemort’s Lieutenant. She remembered the  _ responsibility.  _ To be honest, she had been exercising responsibility here, just in the same way that she had been exercising responsibility under Voldemort, especially during the First War. She’d never really gotten the chance during the Second, and it was so much chaos and… She didn’t want to think of Azkaban. Being staked out for the sun would be better than going back. But it was obvious. Obvious, what to do. “Follow my instructions. However, I take your counsel with respect toward a woman who has known war for almost a hundred years.” 

Valentina saluted, like she might have in the Women’s Battalion, ninety-five years before. She spun on heel, and stepped out, leaving Bellatrix to her own thoughts. The witch moved quietly back to her recliner, and sank into it.  _ I am alone now. There is no Dark Lord to serve, for better and worse.  _ The world yawed in front of her. She had spent the past years trying to recover her magic, learning ways to force it through bonds of blood to regain the power she had once held. Valentina was encouraging her to take and hold a different kind of power. 

Bellatrix imagined herself for a moment as a powerful Vampire Lady. She imagined driving out the Chisinau Coven, and becoming the Night Queen of All Moldavia. She imagined welcoming Andy and Cissy into her embrace, so that they could finally be together for all time, as she had thought would be the case when they were young sisters, close together. She imagined welcoming even her own daughter, in time. There would be enough blood for them, if they held all that territory. 

And for a brief moment, she toyed with the idea of taking the impertinent little Mudblood who had stood up with such resilience to her efforts. The one who was the real brains behind the war which had killed her Lord.  She imagined that girl writhing under her fangs. She imagined her drained of blood… Injected with the vampiric venom… She imagined her writhing in pain, as her transformation into a vampire was completed. She imagined her begging for help as her magic flickered weakly through the blood. 

_ I would be the Queen of the Damned, and you would be my  first subject.  _

Truth be told, Bellatrix shivered in delight at the thought. 


	8. Chains

**Chains**

Moldova was on the border of two great cultural traditions. It had been ruled by the Ottomans long enough to be influenced by their culture—so you could get Turkish coffee, even if it wasn’t called that, seasoned with cardamom. It had already been ruled, in various ways, by Russia for two hundred years, with a short interruption in the middle to be part of Great Romania. Tea was widely available. Shashlik was common, and you could get everything from Bulgarian chicken-with-sauce to Russian pelmeni in Chisinau.

 _If I stay here, I’m going to get fat,_ Hermione thought, looking from the plate of Tochitură—pork cubes cooked in their own juices and tomato sauce—served with cornmeal, eggs, and traditional farmer’s cheese—to her cup of tea, happily twirling steam into the air.

Moldova’s MinKol was run out of what had been a glorified bureau office for the Soviet MinKol before independence. There was a permanent liaison officer from Romania, and it was clear that even if reunification efforts between Moldova and Romania had stalled in the muggle world, the Romanian State Council for Magic was gunning for them to succeed in the wizarding world. And why not? After all, Britain and Ireland still shared a ministry. It could work.

Both the Moldovan muggle government and their MinKol officials had treated her like visiting royalty. There had even been a folk dance group performing for her.

The Moldovans had admitted that the smuggling route probably ran through territory they actually controlled. They thought it was likely loaded onto ships at the port of Giurgiulești, which was locally under the control of the Gaugaz autonomous government, with the cargo being given magical means of location that allowed it to be subsequently found by wizards smuggling it, from within conventional shipments on container ships, where the carrying cases were enchanted so they would not be noticed by muggles.

It was all very clever and had the hallmarks of an experienced operation by—Hermione had to admit—muggleborn wizards who were highly versed in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, and were using the sheer scale and complexity of the muggle world to hide things from the magical authorities. She appreciated that someone turned to crime from a background like her own would easily think of pulling it off.

Transnistria fit into it because the border with the Ukraine—where the dragon eggs came from—was controlled by the border guards of the PMR, not Moldova. The Moldovan MinKol had no control there at all, also. But, neither organisation established a ‘hard’ border with Transnistria, because doing so would be tantamount to admitting that Transnistria was an independent country—you didn’t establish border posts on the frontier of a part of your own nation! This meant that, of course, the entire front with the Ukraine was very porous. You simply first went through the frontier from the Ukraine to Transnistria, and then from Transnistria to Moldova. And on the return, the Moldovans would not even issue exit stamps for entering Transnistria—again, because their position was that it was not a border, it was part of their own country.

So it was the perfect smuggling route, and it was probably being used for smuggling of muggle goods on a vast scale as well. Honestly, if dragon eggs were going this way—which had led to an investigation by her office in the Ministry when some had turned up in Britain—other things certainly were as well. The Department wouldn’t have a particular interest in those, she wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for the dragon eggs. But of course, even then, an Auror would have been sent if it wasn’t for the fact that Transnistria would not permit extraterritorial law enforcement. If she was going to do anything more than issue a fact-finding report, it would be by convincing the Russian MinKol detachment to act.

Finishing her food in the street cafe, an armoured Mercedes from the Moldovan government came up. Her contact in the Moldovan MinKol, Valeria Cebotari, stepped out as Hermione got up. “Madame Granger, we have your luggage from the hotel. You are ready to head to the checkpoint with the Joint Control commission?”

“Certainly,” Hermione answered, stepping into the car. She saw it had a goblin for a driver, which was good, as they could then speak freely, with Ms. Cebotari settling in on the opposite side of the back. “My understanding is that I’ll be meeting with a Larissa Naryshkina?”

Valeria answered in accented but perfectly comprehensible English. “Yes, she’s the chief MinKol officer for the Russian Federation peacekeepers in Transnistria. We deal with her often; a true pureblood aristocratic Russian…” A sigh. “Well, she’s polite, and I don’t think you want to hear a long dissertation on the dynamics of Koldovstoretz and internal wizarding politics in the old Union, but suffice to say, the purge of the aristocracy under the Soviets was not carried out in the wizarding world; instead, a compromise was made. So Koldovstoretz and the Soviet wizarding world was never actually fully under the control of the Soviet Power.”

“I’d understand something of the sort.” Hermione grimaced at the thought of what that pureblood society could be like. “I take it…”

“Well, we’re not happy with any of them, because they’re occupying part of our country, but she is approachable to deal with, and professional. Her cover in the muggle world is as an FSB officer. MinKol takes its duties to Russian interests seriously and the fact that they still have authority over the Wizards of Belarus and Ukraine is very problematic in that regard. She will be completely sympathetic to the policy of muggle Moscow to retain control over Transnistria and you cannot expect any cross-border cooperation, but she _isn’t_ corrupt and she _will_ act to stop the ring—with internal resources in Transnistria. And they have an _international,_ ” Valeria emphasized that, “portkey to Moscow so they can bring in reinforcements directly from headquarters if they need to.”

“Of course.” Hermione jotted down some notes. Soon enough they were out of Chisinau and zipping through the countryside. There was very little traffic, and official government plates meant that the speed limit was blatantly ignored. The only reason they were taking the car, instead of apparating, was because Hermione’s visit was known to the muggle government anyway, and so they needed to be consistent about maintaining, as it were, both identities.

Valeria was quiet for a bit as they drove out of Chisinau. Hermione, for her part, was still thinking about the flight in to Bucharest. She still felt like she had been really talking to Tonks. There had been something ineffably … She didn’t seem like a muggle. Before she lost signal in the rural countryside of Moldova, Hermione started tapping out messages to Harry on her Blackberry.

_Hey, Harry, you’re Teddy’s Godfather, I’m wondering – do you know about his first cousin, once-removed, Tamara Tonks? You know, uhh, Craig Tonks’ daughter. He married some Romanian woman while he was in the service, I think?_

_Never met her,_ Harry answered. _Honestly, I didn’t know Craig was married, but maybe he got divorced a while ago. The military life is tough on marriages, and he was in the Special Boat Service. In fact, I’ve never heard of her before. Why are you asking?_

_I met her on the plane to Bucharest._

_Oh. Interesting. I’ll have to ask Andromeda. Teddy needs more relatives in his life. She’s a muggle, though, I take it?_

_Well, she seems a little different. Do you know if one of Ted and Craig’s parents was actually from the wizarding community? I think Tamara might be a squib._

_I can check on the family tree, if you like. It is a strange coincidence._

_Thanks Harry!_

_How are things?_

_We’re heading toward Transnistria now. I’ll update you when we get there._

Hermione leaned back and put her Blackberry away. There was both Georgian wine and Perrier in the limo’s wine cooler.

All in all, this was a lot nicer than wallowing around with Ron in some insipid effort to 'spice things up'. _He’s your husband. And Molly and Arthur are like extra parents. They love you. The Burrow might as well be a second home._ She poured out the wine with Valeria, and reflected on how she felt weighed down by her husband.

“I understand you were one of the heroes of the war against the Dark Lord?” She asked Hermione, finally being unable to resist.”

“People call me that,” Hermione acknowledged. She didn’t flush, not anymore. It was too useful of a thing for her political career, and she had come to a certain measure of peace and distance with her experiences. “Do you know what it’s like to be a hero?”

“I can’t say,” Valeria admitted, now looking uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s mostly a lot of publicity about everything you do. Get in an argument with your husband in the international portkey terminal? Front page news in the paper.” _Why did I choose that as the first example?_

 _You’re overthinking everything. It just was,_ she told herself sternly.

“So you get tired of it,” the Moldovan woman nodded.

“Quite,” Hermione agreed, and was thankful for the silence that resulted. It didn’t take long, not with the goblin driver operating the vehicle like a true lunatic. It was only like sixty kilometres from Chisinau to the frontier with Transnistria, and as long as you didn’t look out the window and realise that occasionally the goblin driving the armoured Merc was overtaking on the right, everything was fine.

 _Yeah, everything's just fine. Merlin! Ron would be so terrified for me. Well, fuck that._ Sometimes he just seemed like a ball and chain.

But that also meant that it was over in about another ten minutes, as they slowed down and approached the border checkpoint, swinging away from the traffic and over to the parking lot on the side. Two guards approached, and of course the windows were tinted, but the official plates counted for everything, as Hermione and Valeria opened their doors and popped the trunk.

She flashed her British official passport and UN documents, as Valeria showed her government ID—which of course, didn’t explain the officially nonexistent ministry that she worked for—and had a brief conversation with the guards. Hermione grabbed her luggage at the same time.

“Come and see the Colonel,” one of them said in Romanian, which Hermione could follow along with thanks to a magic translation charm placed in one ear.

A minute later, they were inside the post, and being offered coffee, prepared in the Turkish style—more than good enough. “Anton Epureanu,” Valeria introduced her to the Colonel, before adding: “Hermione Granger, representing the Special Rapporteur’s Office, originally from the British Foreign Ministry.”

“Colonel Epureanu,” Hermione acknowledged and offered her hand. After a quick shake, she sat and picked up the coffee.

“We were informed of your arrival. The Russians in Bender were expecting you, Ma’am,” Captain Epureanu explained. “There’s an FSB officer waiting to meet you. I will warn you that everything they say will be tricks and lies. The Government of Igor Smirnov is up to its neck in the smuggling rings you are investigating; it’s a state-sanctioned affair in the so-called Transnistrian regime.”

“I understand, Colonel. You can be certain that, since my objective is to understand the illegal trade and coordinate a response to it, that I will document any kind of prevarication or stonewalling from the Transnistrian regime and make clear in the strongest terms that is contrary to the spirit of the cease-fire accords.”

He sniffed in disgust. “Nobody will listen, Madame Granger. Still, we will escort you across now.”

Hermione smiled, and turned to Valeria. “Thank you, Miss Cebotari. I hope to see you on my return to Chisinau.” There was at least some real sincerity to that, too—unlike a lot of other people who asked questions about her fame, Valeria had actually shut up when politely informed that it was just frustrating to deal with.

“As to you. Stay safe, Madame Granger!”

With that, flanked by two armed guards of the Moldovan Border Guards service, Hermione wheeled her luggage out across no-man’s land. In fact, it was a very laid back affair. A few personnel of the Joint Control Commission—Russians--were waiting, and spent a while studying her official diplomatic passport, as a woman with dark hair and blue eyes in an FSB service uniform came up, her hands behind her back. Hermione noticed the leather utility pouch on her belt—neatly made to be the right size for a wand, but looking like it held a flashlight.

“Hermione Granger?”

“Larissa Naryshkina?”

“Larissa Sergeivna, please,” the young woman, Hermione’s own age, answered with a smile, and extended her hand. Her English was as upper-crust as a Malfoy’s, with only a hint of an accent, but she betrayed absolutely no trace of disgust at the idea of shaking a muggle-born’s hand, and so Hermione reciprocated gladly.

The Border Guards finished checking her passport, but it was a foregone conclusion with the ‘FSB’ woman there, that Hermione would be permitted entrance. A minute later they were walking together, and once they ducked around the corner of a building, Larissa extended her hand. “If you would allow me, Hermione?”

In fact, Hermione was relieved to step away from the muggle world by that point. “Of course!”

With that, they disapparated, to the MinKol bureau office in Tiraspol.

She didn’t really register the figure who had been there in the corner of her eye, heading toward the Guard Post, moving with purpose through the shadows.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonks got back to their shared manse, feeling disquieted. She did not think her cover story with Hermione would last forever, though she would contact her mother and see if something could be arranged. She was, at times, deeply bothered by Valentina. The third vampire living in their house had something of an unusual disposition. She was politely, and, honestly, read to Tonks as pretty queer, being a woman soldier who unfailingly cross-dressed in men’s clothes, but still had long hair.

She accepted Tonks’ relationship with Bella, but regularly expressed her continued casual comfort with rightwing counterrevolutionary sentiments, decades after she had become a vampire, Merlin, almost fifteen years since it had stopped mattering by any objective sentiment. Yet, in fact, her intense loyalty _mattered._

 _You just love collecting strays and trying to make them good people,_ she told herself. So long ago, now, she had gotten used to not having a heart beat. She wished that she could have remained in Britain with her son, but this was no life—existing in fear of losing control around your own child, unable to vote, having no human rights, ‘regulated’ as a ‘creature’. That was what Britain promised her.

That was why she stayed in Transnistria, where she could as free as her and Bella could make themselves. And, for all of these years, she was sure that Bellatrix had not killed a single person—she could not say that she would have expected the same if Bella was alone.

Tonks reached her study, her hair slowly flickering to dark blue to reflect all the melancholy thoughts surging through her. Over time, changing her hair had become possible again without great effort, but anything else drained her in the literal sense that made her hungry for blood, and that had left the trip very uncomfortable, indeed, after she had been forced to quickly change away from the eyes she had been born with. _And I’m not even sure that I managed it in time. Hnnh._

Andy’s daughter started quickly dashing off a letter to her mother. It would go via a small portkey, not large or powerful enough to transport a person (in fact, ‘large’ had nothing to do with the size of the portkey itself, but rather the enchantments upon it), but sufficient for little post-cards, which was how she and Bella kept in touch with Andy—and Narcissa. She explained the situation with Hermione, and asked for her mother to cover for them.

She’d just sent it when Bella stepped in, and put a hand on her shoulder. An electric quiver shot through Tonks. The longer she’d lived with Bella, the more that she’d come to feel that. They shared blood. Indeed, she had known that Bella was coming, but it was so comfortable, and normal, that it hadn’t really occurred to her to be ready.

“I startled you,” Bellatrix murmured.

“You did. My own fault,” Tonks turned up with a grin. She’d always felt herself pansexual—she had chosen to get married to a Werewolf, damnit (and Remus had been positively handsome, and she’d never forget him)--and she could also appreciate just how voluptuous and perfect that Bellatrix was. In her usual dress and corset, with her skin so pale, she was the very picture of a vampire in a gothic novel, her hair that constant black mass of curls, her perfectly haughty aristocratic face.

“Mmmn.” Bella smiled for a moment, before the expression faded. “Valentina told me about your encounter with the mud—Hermione Granger, on the plane.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Tonks enunciated clearly and firmly in response both to Bella’s almost-slur, and self-correction of it. “Yes, I did sit next to Hermione Granger on an aeroplane.”

“Do you think she suspects?”

“I do. She’s much too intelligent not to.”

“Why didn’t you just turn around and get another flight?” Bella grimaced.

“It was probably too late by that point,” Tonks shrugged. “It would be terrifically suspicious, anyway. And I suppose I was just stunned. I haven’t seen her in years, you know. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see her on a muggle plane.”

“And she’s coming here.”

“Yes, she is, Bella. She’s coming here. And?” Tonks couldn’t help it, she felt herself tense. Even now, Bella scared her sometimes. More than sometimes.

“I asked Valentina to watch, and make sure she did not find out about us—without hurting her. You should help. I’ll remain inside until it passes; the two of you can arrange my food, yes?”

“We have a stock of preserved blood for months. I doubt she’ll be here that long. Did Valentina ask the Border Guards we pay?”

“I imagine she did. Like I said, I’ll just stay in.”

Tonks reached up, looped an arm around Bella’s hips, and squeezed her into a sort of a hug, feeling the complicated emotions of her partner-mother-aunt-mistress. “I can feel that you don’t really want to. You’re intrigued to have her around. It’s singing in your blood and you want a challenge. So I’m going to ask you to please follow through.”

“Of _course I can follow through!_ I have perfect self-control and self-discipline,” Bella growled. “As long as I am well-fed, at any rate. I am not such a fool as to endanger what we’ve created here.”

“...You live in the moment and do whatever you feel like at any given time,” Tonks unsteadily giggled.

The flat denial of Bella’s claim brought a glare from the older woman, who could sometimes still act rather more childlike than Tonks. “You impertinent …”

“You like me that way,” Tonks nipped. “ _Stay in,_ for _both_ of us, and everything we’ve got going. I’m sure in her own mildly awful way Valentina actually provided exactly the same good advice.”

“She did,” Bellatrix acknowledged and planted herself on the desk—kicking her booted legs up to straddle Tonks in her chair.

Tonks shivered again. It left her approximately eye-level with Bella’s crotch, even if the elder vampire’s skirt was modest enough not to make it wildly provocative.

“Still…” Bella abruptly had her wand out, and brought the tip thoughtfully to her lips. “Still, what if I were to deal with her in another way.”

“You just promised not to kill her!”

“I’d never break a promise to you, Tonks,” Bella assured her idly, her expression evidencing sincerity to Tonks—for what it was worth. “But… What if I made her into one of us? That would certainly remove the problem. I mean, if we’re going to let Valentina into the house, and she was a muggle before she was a vampire, what’s the harm in letting a mud—muggleborn into the house who is now a vampire? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone more junior…”

Bella trailed off. She had good reason to. Without even really thinking about it, Tonks had stood up right between Bella’s legs, pushing her back against the wall on the desk, with a clatter of toppled items. Only the fact that the ink pot was enchanted to be self-righting kept there from being a disaster with Bella’s dress and a lot of black ink. That still didn’t stop Tonks, growling, from shoving herself closer and baring her fangs in challenge.

Bellatrix shrieked and cackled in delight. “Oooh, you don’t want a _rival_?”

“Don’t _even think_ about bringing her across,” Tonks warned.

“Or you’ll _what_?”

“I’ll _leave,_ ” Tonks snarled, and pulled back. But Bella didn’t take it seriously, or perhaps she didn’t care. She followed Tonks, hopping down to the ground, and then moving so quick that she pushed Tonks into the doorframe, rather than let her go.

“Come, my wonderful Hufflepuff,” Bella whispered huskily, her hands looped around Tonks’ waist. “We have got a pocket Empire to ourselves. Let your aunt be a little vengeful sometimes. I’ll keep my promises. But I can’t forget she’s part of the Golden Trio.”

“Don’t think you can fucking turn me on while talking about revenge against the people who defeated the Dark Lord. _Good on her,_ ” Tonks exclaimed, knowing what was bound to come next.

Bella, going at her. Tonks, fighting back as hard as she could. The two crashing through the hallway as the House Elves apparated away to let them. Tearing, snarling, nipping, punching, grappling, rolling, all in a blur of vampiric speed.

Ending, after a few minutes of utter chaos, with fangs in each other’s throats, better than any sex Tonks had ever known while she was alive.

Leaving Tonks to slip away, let Bella drag herself back to her bed before dawn. Settling down into her own room, feeling guilty at making the House Elves clean it all up; fuming that, again, what had been a real argument had just degenerated into violent vampire sex.

But it always seemed to happen that way, and because of the bond with Bellatrix, Tonks sometimes feared that, if it came down to it, she wouldn’t be able to resist a true command from her lover-aunt.

And perhaps that was why she had never tried to find out.


	9. Slivovitz helps the Impossible Go Down

The hotel had every feature of a visit to a developing nation that Hermione was used to. The furnishings which looked like they were ten years out of date, the lavish bed, the superficial business suite with water damage to the ceiling. Threadbare curtains in questionable colour choices. Multi-plug sockets so travellers from different parts of the world could plug in their electronics, except they were all loose fitting and fell out as soon as you plugged them in. A loud minifridge filled with an indifferent selection of bottled water, fruit juice, beer (and, admittedly different from elsewhere) and kvass, all overpriced and ready to be charged to your room bill if you took one. The disturbing stains in the sink which suggested you might get heavy metals poisoning from drinking the tap water, but don’t worry, the first two water bottles every day were complimentary.

_She loved it._

Turning on the TV, Hermione quickly found there were four channels. One was the state television—TV PMR. It was showing a hokey music spot playing what sounded like a mixture of polka and rap while praising Igor Smirnov, at least from what her limited knowledge of Russian could tell, showing some scenes of fighting during the war mixed in with women offering him food and his visiting events. There was also a private station and local variety channels for Tiraspol and Bendery, apparently. Hermione had never been in to TV, and even if the bizarre experience of watching it here would be entertaining, she wasn’t drunk enough for that, and like it always did, work beckoned.

After sending off a text message to assure Ron that she was fine (there WAS some cell service), Hermione flopped down in her pyjamas at the desk and took out her quill from her bag-of-holding, writing furiously at her notes for the mission so far. The AC sort of worked enough to keep her from sweating, and Larissa had already taken her to a store where she had gotten her pack of kvass for much cheaper, thank you kindly. There was enough room in the minifridge to chill it, and so Hermione had a somewhat authentic experience, a few of her books drawn out in front of her as references.

Valeria was absolutely right, the FSB officer _did_ want to disrupt smuggling through the state. As she had put it, ‘it is an important demonstration of state legitimacy’. Of course, she flatly denied that the authorities, even the muggle authorities, profited off of smuggling, but that was certainly because she was under orders. Larissa seemed a decent person like that. A consummate professional with a wicked sense of humour.

The young witch turned on her iPod for some music, and popped the lid off another bottle of kvass. Sometimes, it was healthy not to completely leave behind the muggle world, she thought, though this was one of her few experiences in it except holidays with her parents, since the Battle of Hogwarts.

This mission, though, was a hell of a lot less awkward than going to the Great Barrier Reef—her parents had refused to move back from Australia—and trying to explain to everyone why she didn’t want to take her long-sleeved blouse off even in the middle of the Aussie summer heat. _It just means you won’t get skin cancer,_ Hermione thought wryly to herself. The colour of one’s skin didn’t matter for that, everyone was at risk.

Most of her work at the moment was using magic ink to make Venn diagrams. In one corner was the Mafiya, the crime lords who had the connections from Russia, Ukraine, Moldova, Balkans. Muggles, but if you paid them enough, they wouldn’t try to open the package, and they were deterred from looking by the enchantments, anyway. _So, you can use them as catspaws in the shipping phase._ They were obviously present in this place; she had already noticed there were a lot of blacked out Mercedes sedans with Ukrainian plates in Tiraspol, blasting Slavic rap, and with how poor the territory was, the locals generally only had old Ladas; there were even a fair number of invalidkas still on the road.

Next was the Moldovan government. Both in the muggle and wizarding world, the corruption indices were high. She didn’t have to look much further than the fact that their MinKol, which probably almost never actually used muggle automobiles, thought that a ‘normal’ muggle automobile was an armoured S600 ‘Pullman’ Merc. The idea that someone in this entire process was just a regular Moldovan official taking a bribe was incredibly high. What were their motivations? Well, they’d want to humiliate the Russians and the Transnistrian government, but ‘cash’ was more likely to be the overriding motivation there.

After that was the Transnistrian Government. In fact, it wanted legitimacy, so insomuch as it had a state policy separate from Russia’s, it was probably anti-smuggling. But Igor Smirnov’s Government was not exactly a highly organised entity. His authority was highly personal. The state budget was mostly subsidies from Russia. Smuggling would be an enormous incentive to anyone in the unrecognised state’s government—a means of augmenting their salary. But not MinKol in Transnistria. Hermione was convinced _that_ was above board, because the salaries were paid in full directly by Moscow. Moscow MinKol was devious and underhanded and willing to pull off some dark shit to retain control over a situation, especially in the ‘near abroad’--she’d been briefed—but it was actually far less corrupt at every level than the Russian government, let alone the Transnistrian government. So the interests of MinKol and the Smirnov Government certainly diverged.

She might find systemic corruption in the muggle side was being abused by wizard smugglers, but she expected she could count on MinKol to help with that.

Unless it threatened Moscow’s position in the territory. In that case, she was certain the investigation would be shut down, and if she refused to let it be shut down… Well, that was unlikely, anyway. _So how do you keep that from happening?_

 **There is no rational reason that stopping the dragon egg smuggling requires humiliating Igor Smirnov’s Government,** Hermione wrote as a note above her Venn diagram.

The Russian peacekeeping force neatly intersected with Russian/Transnistrian Minkol. They’d be in lock-step here. Disciplined messaging, disciplined goals. The wounded bear, still able to project power in her ‘near abroad’.

The Ukrainians? Their government was under Moscow’s thumb and so their MinKol was literally integrated; so, they’d only be different insomuch as people and individuals in the system could be highly resentful. That made them easier to bribe.

 _Any one of them could be involved, if it fit their core objectives. People are rationale,_ Hermione noted in another margin, then enchanted the diagram to hide it and the glowing, magical colours on it. She’d come back to it later, after letting it rest for a little while. She wasn’t here to make arrests herself, but to issue reports, and help the locals to break up the ring. It didn’t matter which side she worked with to do that.

There was a knock on the door. Hermione groaned softly and quickly grabbed her wand, tossed on her robe over her pyjamas for the sake of dignity, and hastened to the door, looking through the peep-hole.

_Oh. It’s Larissa. And she’s holding a brown bag._

Hermione opened the door. The MinKol woman had popped a button at the top of her uniform and had a wicked grin. “Thank you, Hermione.” She breezed in to the table, with an absolutely amazing smell of cooked meat escaping from the bag. Hermione obligingly closed the door and deadbolted it again.

Larissa whipped a little pen from her belt and put it out on the table. A tiny glowing magical image of a gnome gave her a courtly little bow, and then zipped around the room, sniffing at corners and disappearing into objects. Hermione watched before glancing back at Larissa with a quizzical expression.

“He’s checking for bugs…”

A minute later, the little magical gnome returned to the pen, and came to attention and saluted. “The room’s clear, Your Nobleness!” he declared before vanishing in a puff.

“That looks incredibly useful,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, we take fieldcraft seriously,” Larissa shrugged, and then reached down to pull a bottle out of the bag, along with a stick of Shashlik for each of them. “Slivovika. You’d call it Slivovitz, right?”

“Uhh, I’ve never seen it before,” Hermione wrinkled her nose with confusion and moved to sit, producing the cups from the table. She knew she wasn’t getting out of this—and she didn’t really want to.

“Oh. Apologies. I thought you were Jewish, so I wanted to get you something you’d be familiar with. Well, plum brandy definitely has its charms,” the Russian woman grinned.

“Heh. I have gotten that one sometimes,” Hermione acknowledged. “But actually, one of my paternal great-grandfathers was an immigrant from Ghana in the old Imperial days. He served as a Gunner’s Mate in the Royal Navy,” Hermione explained as they ate.

“Oh, well.” Larissa shrugged wryly, popping the lid on the bottle and pouring out the glasses. “As black as Pushkin, then.”

“I love Pushkin,” Hermione’s brown eyes twinkled for a moment. “He was _awesome._ I really should learn Russian so I can read his works in the original language... I've started for this mission but I still know only a little.”

“You should. Well then. To Pushkin!” Larissa raised her glass.

Slivovitz burned like nothing else going down. Plum brandy was _intense._ To put it mildly. _Oh God,_ Hermione thought, and then grinned. “What of yourself?”

“Well, the Naryshkin are an old Tatar family, but that doesn’t really matter here, and Tatar and Russian are all mixed up, anyway.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Larissa.”

“Nonsense, you’re going to be helping me,” Larissa crossed her legs, and popped the buttons on her uniform jacket. “I want this problem dealt with. You’re an experienced combat veteran, too, and we respect each other, even between different nations, so I had to have a drink with you.”

Hermione immediately liked the fact that instead of treating her like some kind of heroine, she was called an experienced combat veteran. “I was a child at the time, you know…”

“That makes it more impressive. Well, I’ll hold my opinions about it to myself…”

“Opinions?” Hermione was suspicious. Larissa _was_ a pureblood.

“About Wizarding Britain using child soldiers,” Larissa answered with a sniff.

“Oh, uhm. I guess I was one of those.” Hermione sat her glass down, and it was immediately filled back up. “And you?”

“We had to deal with some Voldemort loyalists in the wake of the Wizarding War, who wanted to deliver Russia to him. After that, when Dolohov tried to find shelter, we dealt with him also. As a junior witch in the Uniformed Operations Division, I was fortunate enough to be involved in both. Then I volunteered for a tour in Chechnya, covering our muggle forces against local wizards that had joined the insurgency and making sure clean-up was done in a way to keep the muggles from knowing about it.” She shrugged as she raised her second glass. “I saw some fucked up shit.”

Hermione smiled that kind of smile which didn’t quite reach one’s eyes. But there was still perfect understanding between their eyes. “So did I. To Comrades?”

“To Comrades!”

The second one was easier, of course. The second glass was always easier. “My personal opinion,” Larissa remarked, “is that the dragon eggs are being smuggled in by muggles who don’t know what they are.”

“I agree that the bridge in the smuggling chain is definitely muggles,” Hermione nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it… Muggle-born wizards are the most likely originators of the ring. But I understand they’re mostly well-integrated in Koldovstoretz and Russian wizarding society?”

“Yes. Of course, coming from families in the Soviet era, they have little money. Because we weren’t purged, we still have our accumulated family wealth, and because of the policies during the Soviet era, we had very little to spend it on. So there is a _very substantial_ gap in wealth between the old aristocratic families and the new families. And you know, our economy is only starting to recover from the cabbage winter.”

Hermione knew she was referring to 1999, when the financial crisis slammed into the nascent Russian capitalist economy. “Literally a cabbage winter?”

“Yes, some people survived the winter on nothing but cabbage. I am not going to pretend,” Larissa continued drolly, “that I was one of them.”

“Fair.” Hermione kicked back. “So, thinking about it, where do you think the connection is through here?”

“Geographically, Bendery is the most likely spot on the western side.”

“I meant, in terms of the social sector.”

“Oh, well, there is no criminal element in the wizarding community, which numbers less than a thousand,” Larissa answered—as Hermione expected she would. “So, if the smuggling is being done by muggles, of course, there could be problems. We have had a new organisation appear in the past few years. It’s being run out of Bendery and controls nightclubs in Bendery and Tiraspol, and invested in a distillery and winery, making wine and brandy. They also started buying up and running for-profit medical clinics lately. They do a lot of cross-border trade, and we’re not sure where the original funds originated. They’ve tried to stay very quiet, but they do also engage in the usual political activities in the territory...”

 _Paying bribes, you mean,_ Hermione thought.

“...So we have gotten some images of them.” Larissa reached into her now-unbuttoned uniform jacket, and pulled out a set of photographs, laying them down in front of Hermione.

Hermione flipped through the first few. Punk chick with blue hair, _huh, why does everyone in the Romanian speaking world look kind of like Tonks._ Some woman who looked much more Slavic—Hermione didn’t recognise her at all— _okay, more normal…_

Hermione flipped to the next picture, which showed a short woman next to Igor Smirnov, the fat and mustachioed President of the unrecognised Republic. Then she dropped the picture on the table, feeling every muscle freeze throughout her body. Her body went _cold,_ like her heart was pulling her blood back into the centre of her body. She couldn’t even blink. She was rigid, tense, taut. Her thoughts were rapid and brutal, coming to her like staccato bursts of gunfire.

_Bellatrix Lestrange._

_That’s Bellatrix Lestrange talking to the President of the PMR._

_Bellatrix Lestrange is dead._

_I saw her die._

_Molly Weasley killed her._

_That’s Bellatrix Lestrange, talking to Igor Smirnov._

_That’s Bellatrix Lestrange._

_Bellatrix Lestrange is in Transnistria._

_But Bellatrix Lestrange is dead._

Larissa was looking at her quizzically like she could very well tell that Hermione was in some kind of dire straits. But Hermione just reached up and pushed at her glass. “Pour me another, please,” she said, hoarsely.

“Hermione, you might have just as well seen a ghost. You know that woman?” But for all that, Larissa obliged. She poured out another glass of slivovitz, one for each of them.

Hermione grabbed it and knocked it back in one convulsive gesture. Her left forearm was hurting—was it just psychosomatic?--and she was staring at the picture on the table. Younger than she remembered. Paler. Hair in better condition. Features sharper, leaner, but the severe beauty of a Black was _definitely_ still present.

Was it really her? It wasn’t exactly her. She shouldn’t have gotten _younger._ She should haven’t gotten prettier, right? _Since when was she pretty in your head?_ Hermione looked frantically to Larissa. “Have you run this image with magical law enforcement?”

“Yes – that woman is not a witch wanted anywhere in the world. Do you think she’s even a witch? I mean, we haven’t definitively seen any evidence of it.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be wanted anywhere in the world, because she’s legally dead. We all saw her. She should be long buried at this point, and certainly not anywhere in eastern Europe investing in brandy distilleries and nightclubs and medical clinics in Transnistria.”

“Really, what’s her name?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort’s foremost Lieutenant.”

“You don’t say,” Larissa murmured softly. “Are you sure?”

“No. She shouldn’t look exactly like that. It would just be a coincidence, younger, and…” Hermione trailed off. _Do you actually know what Nymphadora Tonks looks like? I mean, really? There might be another, saner explanation here than a dead person running a business in Transnistria._ “Actually, there are a few other possibilities,” Hermione decided to back down from the ‘crazy person’ corner she was otherwise driving herself into. She needed to do some research and investigate a few hypotheses, that would be important, wouldn’t it? “I admit, there are a few other possibilities. Bellatrix should look older than that, for one.”

“Well.” Larissa was silent for a moment. “Do you want me to do anything? I will say this, however; the Government regards foreign investment into Transnistria favourably. Slavka Chernova is the woman’s name, as we know her, and because of that… Well, of course, if she is engaged in smuggling which is destabilising Transnistria, we will act. But I want to make it clear that we’re sharing this information with you precisely because you _don’t_ have arrest powers, Hermione. _We_ will make the determination on the appropriate course of action. This is the sovereign territory of Transnistria.”

Hermione shook her head, forcing away the lethargy of shock. “I understand loud and clear, Larissa Sergeivna. Thank you, nonetheless. I will reach out to you very soon and let you know how I want to proceed and what determination I’ve made about this situation, all right?”

“Certainly,” Larissa answered, and rose. “Take care.” A pause. “You don’t seem well. You fought this Bellatrix during the war, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hermione agreed. _The one that got away._ The one who _died._ Hermione had been intensely interested in plans for rehabilitating the death eaters, and worked with Shacklebolt on many of the strategies. Considering that Narcissa’s stand had saved Harry, and that Andromeda was a bedrock of the Order, even if she didn’t actively fight, Hermione wondered what, precisely, had happened with Bellatrix to turn her into Voldemort’s most loyal Lieutenant. A few visits with Minerva had supplied her with stories her time in Hogwarts, socially isolated and defiant, uncaring of convention and Pureblood respectability, but under enormous pressure to protect her younger sisters and to be the shining heiress of the House of Black, such an ideal marriage prospect.

But apparently her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange had been awful. One time, she had intervened Mr. Lestrange in Azkaban, and gotten the impression that the only thing he shared with his wife was their absolute devolution to Voldemort. They appeared to have absolutely nothing else in common.

At least Ron had a sense of humour.

“Well, thank you, at least,” Hermione offered, and showed Larissa out. “We _will_ be in touch again. And soon, I am sure. I will move as expeditiously as I may.”

“Of course. Have a good night.” The MinKol officer stepped out, the door closed, and Hermione was alone, to come running back to the table, and now look at the pictures again without someone looking over her shoulder.

 _What if it’s Tonks? Why would Tonks, if she survived, flee to Transnistria and set up a business?_ To be sure, it was a possibility. She had felt that she had encountered Tonks on the aeroplane. For all she knew, the appearance of one “Slavka Chernova” was actually what Tonks really looked like. She’d have to ask Andromeda, and that was not viable in the middle of this mission.

That meant the pictures of both the punk girl and of “Chernova” meeting Igor Smirnov were of the same person—Nymphadora Tonks.

_Tonks is supposed to be dead too._

Option two was a really interesting one, and she desperately wished that she had access to books to research it herself. She didn’t know if it was Teddy Tonks’ family, possibly with Squibs in the family tree, or if it was Andromeda Black’s family—that is, _the_ Black family—that Nymphadora had inherited her metamorphmagus abilities from. Was it possible, because it was magical, but a completely different source of magic, that Tamara Tonks was actually a squib metamorphmagus? Unable to perform normal magic, but able to alter her appearance at will?

Now _that_ was a tempting explanation, because someone like that could probably successfully navigate both the wizarding and muggle worlds and would be totally unstoppable by the muggle authorities. The problem was that gave _absolutely no reason at all_ for Tamara Tonks to actually look like Bellatrix, whereas at least Nymphadora quite possibly looked like that as her veriform. So it was really rather impossible.

Hermione eyed the bottle of Slivovitz. The temptation to keep drinking was overwhelming. Because then there was the other option.

_You’re looking at Bellatrix Lestrange._

She really didn’t want to deal with that option. Her mind frantically searched for others. _What if it’s another Black relative? A bastard girl? Hell, could Rodolphus and Bellatrix have had a daughter?_ In fact, if the Metamorphmagus talent ran in the _Black_ family, that child might even be one. And the child of two prominent Death Eaters would have every reason to move herself to the absolutely most remote backwater she could find in the whole wizarding world.

Hermione went for some water, not caring how expensive it was, and forced herself to hydrate so she could start writing coherently. It was time to put together notes, and then reach out to see if the theory had any validity.

A nasty little part of her mind kept insisting she was just doing it so she could avoid facing up to the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange had somehow cheated Death.


	10. Backstage

In fact, Hermione found herself consumed with the situation. It didn’t help that, of course, the Transnistrian Border Guards service was not exactly communicative, and the government had mastered ‘politely unhelpful’ down to a professional T. Both of those things had been expected.

And a convenient solution had been put in front of her, anyway. The group supposedly run by Bellatrix could in fact be responsible for the smuggling. _Why would Bellatrix want to smuggle dragon eggs to Britain?_ She refused to believe that one would _just_ be over money. There might, then, be a far more sinister motive.

The problem was that these musings were giving her the brain-bug that Bellatrix Lestrange was alive. It wasn’t a comforting thing to think about. The scar, the memory of the night in the Malfoy Manor. She didn’t sleep nearly so easily as she thought would, when she started out on this journey days ago.

So she sent her set of mysterious inquiries, and got some answers—no known child of Bellatrix with Rodolphus (of course, that would be news in the Tattler if nothing else). Not like that ruled it out. At all. And then Andy came through and said to Harry, apparently, that she totally had a niece-in-law named Tamara Tonks who lived in Romania and was, as far as she knew, a squib, like Ted Tonks’ mother had been (squib-ness was generally held to last for two or three generations, though mostly Wizards didn’t like talking about it at all, a kind of fear and bigotry Hermione thought was disgusting).

Superficially, that ended the inquiry. Tamara Tonks existed. Her meeting on the aeroplane had been an innocuous coincidence. Of course, that had nothing to do with the photograph of ‘Bellatrix’ in Bendery, which could in fact be Bellatrix even if the girl on the aeroplane had been Tamara Tonks…

_God, my head hurts._

So there had been only one really viable solution to all of that uncertainty. It didn’t stop her head from hurting, but it did move things forward. She had a list of nightclubs which were frequented by the supposed-Bellatrix and the maybe-not-definitely-Tonks—scratch that, _owned._

So it was time to go clubbing.

This was actually an experience that Hermione had never had before in her life. She’d started life as the sheltered, bookish child of two dentists. She’d read books. She’d gone to science centres and museums. After school activities. From age eleven, she had been a witch. Ultimately, by the age where her muggle parents might have let her go to a nightclub, she was romancing a wizard—one with a very poor family. She was also in the middle of a war.

Wars had this strange way of keeping you from going clubbing.

She looked like every socially awkward young woman forcing herself to a club that had ever existed. The difference from the stereotype was that she was a rising government civil servant, and a hard drinker.

Hermione couldn’t find a single thing in this that was really interesting. In fact, other than nursing alcohol to avoid getting actually drunk, she wasn’t really doing anything interesting, or productive. She did suppose that most cases of potential criminal organisations were as completely boring as this, but it didn’t exactly provide her much to go on in terms of writing a report, or getting Larissa to shut down the smuggling operation.

In fact, she knew that the only serious reason she was here was to find out whether or not Bellatrix Lestrange was alive, and this had rapidly become her core focus. The responsible, dutiful student part of her was hoping that Bellatrix was responsible for the dragon egg smuggling, so she could put a bow on all of this, but it was decidedly secondary in her heart.

Maybe it was too much to have expected that she wouldn’t attract attention. A few conversations had passed with her awkward and limited language, but nothing substantive. Then, it abruptly changed. A somewhat battered woman in her—Well, it was hard to tell. She might only be in her thirties, but if she was, she had lived an extremely rough life—middle age settled down next to Hermione, and ordered vodka from the bar.

Hermione felt a small, involuntary shiver when bright and clear blue eyes turned toward her. They were the eyes of a hunter, a killer. The look in the eyes was something that both the Death Eaters and the heroes shared now, that muggle soldiers—and not just any, but the Operators, the Airborne—and Aurors who were Wizarding War veterans alike shared. The _casual_ experience with killing. The people who would sleep peacefully after garrotting you. That’s the look she had.

 _Dumbledore’s Army wasn’t really to face people like that,_ Hermione thought with a glum reflection on the dead at the Battle of Hogwarts. Including Tonks. She glanced up to the dangerous woman, with her shock pale skin and hair in a mad tangle down her back. She was well dressed, if rather conservatively by the standards of a nightclub in Bendery.

“ _Dobrei vecher_ ,” she offered. A simple ‘good evening’.

“You have a good talent for foreign languages,” the woman remarked in smooth English, accented, a bit sibilant, but perfectly comprehensible.

“Did I give myself away that easily?”

“British tourists always do. I suppose you might be American, but you don’t weigh nearly enough.”

Hermione laughed involuntarily.

The woman polished off her glass with the third swig. That matched Hermione levelly—Dumbledore’s Army hadn’t taught her how to kill, but the Battle of Hogwarts had certainly taught her how to drink. The power plays of Ministry life were just a different kind of moonshine. “Mmn,” she mused. “That was an unkindness. You are nothing like an American.”

“Oh, they’re not bad people—really,” Hermione insisted wryly. “Still, may I have your name?”

“Valentina.”

“Valentina, a pleasure. Do you come here often?”

“I do,” Valentina acknowledged. “There’s not much else to do in Bendery these days, alas. Particularly when your only time off is at night.”

“Busy days?”

“One could say it,” the rather bedraggled woman nodded. “Of course, not many tourists actually come to Transnistria, you know. Did you show up to obsess over the Soviet chic?”

“Hardly. I’m here for business,” Hermione answered, now feeling a little suspicious.

“Oh, well, good.”

Hermione surreptitiously reached for her wand, and tried to work a simple magic detection spell from under her short jacket. This was fabulously awkward, but she was fabulously good at magic, so it balanced out.

The wand shook.

Valentina was magical.

But she had no wand unless very carefully hidden.

 _What if it’s Tonks? What if it’s … Bellatrix Lestrange’s child._ Risky to push, and yet fascinated, Hermione leaned closer, her wand still tightly held under her jacket, and whispered. “Tonks, is it you? Where’s your wand?”

“...Let’s go somewhere private and talk, Hermione.” ‘Valentina’ slipped down from her barstool. “International Statute of Secrecy and all that.”

Hermione’s eyes going wide was impossible to avoid at that point as the figure next to her used her name and invoked magical law. _Oh Merlin is that really Tonks what the hell is going on?!_ She rallied that terrible Gryffindor courage, and hurried after the woman. They reached a nondescript door, to a dressing room for nightclub singer or something like that. A full bed was inside, which left Hermione feeling a little embarrassed as the person she had met quickly shut the door behind them.

“...Tonks?” Hermione repeated.

“Sit down, sit down… Valentina,” the woman corrected, leaning against the door. “Promise me you won’t panic, Miss Granger.”

“ _Are you Tonks!?”_

“No. But I know who you are—I planned this opportunity at a meeting.” She turned her coat inside out. “No wand.”

“But _you’re magical, I know, the spell told me,_ ” Hermione cringed, briefly worrying about an internal investigation into having violated the Statute. “And you knew Tonks’ name. You know _my_ name.”

“I’ve been researching you,” Valentina answered… And yawned widely, the yawn turning into a growl, the growl showing fangs as they dropped into view, her eyes flashing in the light like a cat’s would.

Hermione sucked in her breath and paled. “You’re not a witch. You’re a vampire.”

“Well spotted. I had hoped you might be more intelligent than _that,_ witch, based on your reputation.”

“Well, sorry.” Hermione was quick to anger, when her intelligence was insulted. “But I … I’ve never met a vampire before.” She had her wand ready, slowly calming, but remaining tense and ready to fight.

“I’m not surprised, considering how popular it was for Wizards to kill the likes of us, once upon a time,” Valentina answered, and seemed to relax a little. “You won’t kill me?”

“Not unless you try to kill me.”

“I would never think of it. You, Hermione Granger, are my ticket to being able to live a normal life.”

“...Madame Valentina? You’re a vampire, so aren’t you dead?”

Valentina sniffed. “That’s really a matter of perspective. I’m a sapient creature that can interact with the material world and has a need for sustenance and an ability to experience life and accrue memories. Does that sound _dead_ to you?”

“No.”

“So, I want a normal life,” the woman in front of Hermione continued. “I should like to have the same rights in Wizarding Society as a Goblin or an un-transformed Werewolf would. To live amongst you, to be recognised by your services, to have a community, interactions with your culture. I am perfectly capable of feeding without killing any kind of human. And I have spent most of my life alone.”

 _Huh. I wasn’t expecting this, but, she’s got a point. Vampires are discriminated against._ Hermione bit her lip, and looked at the woman with a new appraisal—that she was just a normal woman who happened to be a vampire, and of course, vampires were people too. She knew _enough_ to know that she wasn’t lying—being fed on by a vampire was _not necessarily_ harmful, according to the books. But she had only seen one vampire before, and he had essentially been a pet kept by a wizard for entertainment. Which in retrospect was just as sickening as any treatment of House Elves or Goblins or Werewolves she had ever encountered.

Vampires were just going to have to be the next step up in terms of getting anyone to pay attention to their rights—but it was definitely her job, and it definitely made sense. Why couldn’t someone like Valentina who was perfectly conversant and calm be a part of Wizarding society?

“I’m sympathetic,” Hermione offered, though her head was still filled with questions. “How did you…”

“Your work on the rights of non-Wizard magical creatures is already well known,” Valentina answered, moving to sit on a chair opposite Hermione sitting on the edge of the bed. “So I wanted to take the opportunity to ask for your help.”

“...You mean, with seeking reforms, so you could join international wizarding society with _rights_ under the law, rather than just a protection from being killed?”

“Yes,” Valentina replied levelly. “I mean, wizards would never permit a magical creature to be part of muggle society, so I can’t precisely create an organisation to advocate for the rights of vampires there. It would have a rather awful outcome. However; I do rather want some kind of society to live in. So I decided to ask you.”

“How did you figure out I was here…”

“I may or may not have been responsible for the original leaks of information to the Ministry of Magic which brought you here, Miss Granger,” she smirked.

Hermione shook her head, laughing. “Well, in that case… Is there even a link to the dragon egg smuggling?”

“Oh yes, there is—one does not bait a woman as smart as you are, Miss Granger, with something that is a _lie._ Though you’re looking for it with the wrong group. They’re certainly using Sheriff assets to execute the smuggling operation. Junior Councillor Naryshkina is likely under orders to keep you away from their operations, because they own nearly the entire economy of Transnistria and have extensive connections to international smuggling. But, again, because they own nearly the entire economy, any negative repercussions for them as a muggle business concern would result in negative repercussions for Transnistria, and thus Russian interests.”

“And how do you know it’s them?”

“I’m an associate of the firm you were investigating, namely, the one that owns these Nightclubs. Do you think they just let any random vampire into their back rooms? You witches are too used to being able to open muggle locked doors at will, I must say…”

Hermione laughed ruefully. “You’re likely right about that.” But those words actually chilled her to the bone. _This woman is an enforcer for someone else who may, in fact, be Bellatrix Black’s daughter._

Hermione felt herself grow very cold and very still. _Wrong direction, ‘Mione. Not Bellatrix Black’s daughter. Vampires._

_Try Bellatrix’s Grand Aunt. Or great-great-grand-aunt._

_What happens when you make a witch a vampire?_ “Speaking about that,” Hermione spoke carefully. “Satisfy a curiosity of mine, if you would?”

“Go on,” Valentina answered casually. She looked at Hermione with arched brow, and the confidence that reminded Hermione she might be making a very bad decision.

“What happens when a witch becomes a vampire?”

Valentina grew still. Her eyes, pallid blue, stared hard, and Hermione felt like she were trying to peer inside of her own soul to discern where and why the question had been directed to her. Hermione could tell that her muscles had stiffened. “You don’t want my life,” Valentina directed at her, at last, the breath drawn in to allow for speech, coming out as a sharp, harsh hiss. “There’s nothing good that comes from someone who wants to be a vampire for power, or immortality.”

Hermione was going to protest, but she decided against it. The conversation was a fascinating window into the lives of other sapients, and she was pushing on, because she was edging around the question of who the woman in the photograph with Smirnov was. “How did you become a vampire?”

“For power,” Valentina laughed bitterly. “Or I suppose revenge. One woman wasn’t strong enough for revenge, so I became one creature of hell instead… Impertinent witch.”

“You still refused to answer my question,” Hermione bounded up, stepping closer to Valentina, curiosity overcoming the fear of feeling like a hunted prey. “And, you wanted my help. In fact, I have no interest in living your life or becoming one of your kind, but … I am curious. What happens to a witch who becomes a vampire? Or wizard, as you like. I’ve no preference.”

Valentina’s eyes rolled faintly, and then she shrugged, took a step back, but looked Hermione in the eye. “A witch who becomes a vampire finds her magic being drawn through a straw. This, I have learned. And, of course, it feels very different for a muggle who became a vampire, for the innate magic of a vampire is much better than having no magic at all.”

“Hmm. Like your magic is being drawn through a straw. So, you mean, almost … Oh, right, you’ve probably never apparated.”

Now Valentina rolled her eyes altogether not faintly at all. “Yes, sorry about that.” She stretched, and shifted again relative to Hermione, seeming restless. “Does it occur to you, Miss Granger, that you are entirely too inquisitive by far?”

“I _am_ here to ask questions, you know. And if you manipulated the files to get me specifically sent, you should know that. I _will_ help you, Valentina, but I need you to also answer my questions and help me. It’s not like I’d ever be able to convince the wizarding world to accept a substantial reform of the laws around vampires without some kind of sympathetic subject to craft a narrative around. Though, to your credit, you sound like you’ve had a very hard life.”

“I chose not to let it define me; I could have died dissolute, I chose revenge instead, and, I think you will find that I am not the best face of such a campaign. Nonetheless, I would do all that you say, except that I feel your questions are not very _germaine_ to the matter of vampire rights in the United Kingdom.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s _bound_ to come up. A living death for a wizard or witch in which they don’t have magic would be a horrifying risk. Not so much, if they still have magic, for example. I’m going to have to convince people that, firstly, the risk of accidental vampirisation is small, and that two, it isn’t a fate worse than death if it does happen. By the wizarding world’s standards. I can already appreciate why you did what you did.” In fact, Hermione couldn’t appreciate it at all, and was starting to have a sinking suspicion that Valentina might well have had those killer’s eyes long before she had become a vampire. Still, never let it be said that Hermione didn’t believe in the power of redemption. If Valentina wanted in from the cold, she’d give a fair shake toward making it safely happen for all involved.

But that was quite an effort she was committing to. It might just be _some_ leverage. “But, Valentina, will you help with my investigation, in return?”

“I already told you to investigate Sheriff.” Valentina tensed.

Tensed like she might be ready to pounce. Suddenly the sheer, insanely bold danger of the situation which Hermione had thrust herself into came crashing down on her. She was standing in a small room, in the back of a nightclub, in an unrecognised country, with a highly refined predator of humans. She was a human. She might as well have been a gerbil inside of a Terrarium, the snake uncoiling around her as she stood there.

_What kind of fucking idiot am I?_

_A Gryffindor._

“Accio Wand!”

Valentina _blurred._ Hermione barely had the instant of time in which to work unvocalised magic. She nailed the vampire with a hex, sending her toppling back into the small bed. Another split-second of hesitation or slowness in the motion of her hand, and she would have been undone there and then.

Hermione held her wand up, and then cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but there’s a problem with this entire situation. I was given photographs and I need answers about them. Photographs of a woman meeting with Igor Smirnov.”

The door clicked. Shadows began to shift along the walls.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ” Hermione commanded, the wand motion summoning, conjuring forth a mass of thick ropes to bind Valentina. Take out one enemy, turn for the next. _Merlin, was this an ambush all –_

“Fuck.” Hermione whispered. Her heart hit the pit of her stomach. She felt her strength melting from her.

That familiar old bent wand that had resisted her magic so long and well, for the love of its mistress, was pointed again at her, as it had been on some of the worst days of her life. Drawn up in a massive coat, from ankle to neck, over the customary old dragon-skin corset and dress—absolutely gothic. Even the touch of ruby red lipstick, perfect below a wild tangle of black curls, now once again, almost silken and smooth, without a single extra hint of grey, for all of the years that had passed. Hips and thighs muscular despite the tiny size of her body, bosom full under the corset… Eyes alight with a kind of mad intelligence. And a hint of a flash of glowing light.

“The only _problem_ with this entire solution, Muddy the Mudblood, is that you just attacked one of my retainers. Without warning, when she was being nice to you.” Bellatrix Lestrange clicked her tongue and laughed bitterly. “Even Dumbledore would have to take five points from Gryffindor for _that_ one, muddy.”

“Lestrange,” Hermione hissed, feeling her courage sag around her. Feeling the scar on her arm begin to ache. Before she could dwell on it any further—there was some kind of stubborn Gryffindor courage which kept her wand up and at the ready, at least, so that Bellatrix didn’t immediately pounce—there was a sound of cracking robes from the bed.

 _Incarcerous_ was a set of magical bonds, but vampires were magical creatures. And whatever magic gave Valentina her strength was starting to win in _that_ contest.

And it was then, with a vampire on the bed in the process of breaking out of her bonds, and standing down Bellatrix Lestrange in a stand-off with their wands, that Hermione realised the obvious. _How did Bellatrix survive the Battle of Hogwarts?_

_Jesus fucking Christ. She **didn’t.**_

_And that’s exactly why she’s standing in front of me right now pointing her wand at me._

And then the situation decided to take a dive into a funhouse mirror. “I’ll remind Your Nobleness,” Valentina spoke from the bed, brushing off the chunks of shattered Incarcerous rope and sounding remarkably composed, “that you gave your word to another member of your coven that you would not harm this woman.”

Bellatrix grimaced. “Oh you fucking rotter. Why did you even have to bring that up?” She laughed, and for a moment, Hermione felt distinctly haunted. “Anyway, give muddy some credit. Whippet-quick reflexes and her wand out and ready to fight. How, exactly, do you propose that I bring her back to our manor without a war in the back room of the club?”

“An offer of safe conduct, Your Nobleness,” Valentina answered with guileless sincerity, taking a few ginger steps to Bellatrix’s side. “She’s too curious for her own good, and she’d be just as likely to lose as to win the fight.”

Bellatrix shrugged, laughing. “I wasn’t expecting that from her, but… Well, alright, muddy, there you have it. Do you want to go … Sit and talk?”

Hermione wondered idly if it were more similar to an invitation from the Mad Hatter, or Hitler.


	11. Mexican Standoff

It was a Mexican Standoff. That was the best way to describe it. Hermione still had her wand, she could flee if she wanted to. She could go to the FSB headquarters in Tiraspol—let Larissa know what was going on. She would have a strike team there from Moscow in minutes, Hermione didn’t doubt it. Of course, minutes was plenty of time for Bellatrix to apparate away herself, in an area of disputed magical and muggle borders and control. And this Bellatrix—well, she clearly understand the muggle world enough to _run a damned nightclub._

 _For harvesting people for blood,_ Hermione thought with a sudden chill, and wondered just how many had died in the back of that club. Certainly, Bellatrix would think nothing at all of killing Muggles and drinking their blood for food. She probably found it a form of entertainment, like the muggle hunts that the Death Eaters had gone on as a form of leisure.

They moved through the night in Bendery, a tight knot of three women. Bellatrix had her wand out and screened by her coat, and so did Hermione. The moonlight made her skin an absolutely brilliant white, where it was visible. Hermione wondered if that was the equivalent of a healthy glow for a vampire. Valentina shared it, which she supposed meant they were both successful vampires.

 _Why was it when Valentina was just a muggle turned into a vampire that I was sympathetic and now I’m wondering if they eat people in their nightclub?_ In fact, Valentina had been quite the effective manipulator, and it finally explained how she knew so much about Hermione… Which also meant that Bellatrix had certainly been doing her research.

 _And you’re going into this blind._ Hermione turned down another street with them. Perhaps, enough of the city was in their pocket, that nobody would question much if she went into their house, and never returned. It turned into a one-and-a-half kilometre walk from the downtown where the nightclub was, not too far to be unpleasant. They covered it briskly, in about fifteen minutes, and it reminded Hermione of just how _fit_ Bellatrix was as a vampire, looking healthier than she had seen her during the war, even if ‘fitness’ was probably a slightly alien concept to vampires. In the tension of the situation, her brain stupidly wondered if vampires needed to exercise. Could a vampire get fat from drinking too much blood?

She considered, again, if she should fight. The problem was that, as far as she knew, vampires had connections with each other. So, if either Bellatrix _or_ Valentina saw her go for her wand, the other would instantly know. Valentina didn’t have a wand, but she might still be incredibly dangerous. Vampires were said to have the ability to move unnaturally fast. Yes, she could fight, but part of that also depended on Valentina’s claim, that a witch who became a vampire would cast magic like it was drawn through a straw, to be true. If it was false, and this Bellatrix could fight as well, or worse, because her motions in casting were _faster,_ that she could fight _better,_ then it would go south, very fast. And instead of reporting the situation to Larissa Naryshkina, the local militsiya might do precisely nothing, if Bellatrix had them in her pay.

So, of course she was terrified, that she was walking into this woman’s lair. Of course, she couldn’t help but think of the Malfoy Manor. The scar on her arm burned, even as she thought about it. And of course, she wanted most of all to be anywhere but here. Already, she was regretting not listening to Ron. _Whatever else, he does love you, and he was right about this,_ Hermione thought with a kind of detached glumness. But, she tried to keep her spirits up. She was the brightest witch of her age, and she could find a way out of this. She’d have to.

Hearing Bellatrix out would at least keep whatever went down under control and avoid the need for a massive clean-up operation which would make her and muggleborns in general in the Ministry look bad; the amount of obliviation required if they just had a giant throw-down fight in the middle of the street in Bendery with local authorities involved would definitely be the kind of black mark which could scuttle a career.

A central house, with a four-corner roof, of red tile, marked Bellatrix’s residence. She saw that two similarly large adjoining houses had been linked to it, and several others demolished, to create a mansion-like edifice with a proper amount of property around it. Stepping in through the gate, the immediate feeling of the wards tugging—there were differences. Yes, it wasn’t entirely hidden, nor unplottable, but magic use inside would be screened from the outside world. _Good. I think._

Valentina opened the door and held it for both of them, like a footman. But she had a mischievous grin. “Witches first.”

“She’s actually horribly impertinent,” Bellatrix remarked drolly as they stepped inside. “Viggy?” She called, and a House Elf popped up.

“Mistress Bella? Viggy is being here!”

“Prepare tea, and shashlik for our guest.”

“Viggy is being food preparation elf!” The elf declared, with wide eyes, perhaps taking in for a moment the fact that Hermione was _not_ a member of the undead.

Hermione shook her head slowly. Even at this juncture, she had not expected Bellatrix to be serious about entertaining her, but here she was. _They have me inside of their wards. I don’t know what advantages they have over me because of that, but I still have my wand._

Valentina led them down into what seemed like a windowless sunken den, with a minibar; Hermione was surprised by the modern architecture, but in retrospect it made sense, that something in the basement would be a comfortable and safe place for vampires to relax. Hermione immediately stalked over to one of the chairs the furthest from the others, and sank into it, her wand still out and in her lap. She watched with interest as the other two parted ways, and moved to chairs at the points of a triangle.

 _Bellatrix isn’t an idiot, and she wouldn’t choose an idiot for a retainer._ They were making sure that a single spell from Hermione couldn’t harm both of them, that much was plain. _Well it’s good to see that I’m not at the Mad Hatter’s tea party quite yet, where we all sit down and sing kumbaya._ _Still, it does give me an opening, if Valentina is smart and thoughtful._ Hermione cleared her throat. “So, you invited me here. Valentina, I would have you know, at this moment, that Bellatrix Lestrange is an escaped war criminal, a terrorist, a torturer, a murderer. Though you may have asked me in the midst of deceiving me to lower my guard, I _will_ help you seek recognition as a magical being with the same rights and participation in Wizarding society as a Goblin. I think that’s completely fair. However, I hope it goes without saying that I have to walk out of here alive to be able to do that. And not as a vampire, either—they won’t give me the time of day if I’m trying to advocate for my own rights instead of someone else’s, as ridiculous as that is.”

Viggy popped up, putting shashlik and a cup of tea down on the end table next to Hermione’s chair. “Viggy is presenting English tea.”

“Thank you,” Hermione acknowledged, and picked up the cup. She did not expect it was poisoned, because it was just too ridiculous to think of that there was a secret plan laid in with the House Elves to put an end to her, when Bellatrix was always the kind who would want to do it herself.

Glowing eyes, in the light, regarded her from across the room. Bellatrix laughed softly. “My, my, mudblood. You’ve grown up since the last time that I saw you. So cool and steady, on the outside, but I can hear your heart beating.”

“Would Your Nobleness consider extending to our guest the privilege of her name?” Valentina asked softly.

“Oh _would you stop, Valentina!?_ ” Bellatrix leapt to her feet and Hermione tensed. “You wanted to be part of my family, but you can be so easily seduced by her offers?”

“I just feel, that even if we must fight and kill her, there is no reason to be impolite.”

Bellatrix sank back down, and laughed softly. “She helped kill My Lord,” the dark witch answered, sullenly. “If she sat in front of you now, Valentina, as one of the murderers of the Tsar, and his wife and young children, would not rage fill your soul?”

Valentina went very quiet. She glanced to Hermione, who swallowed, now wondering at the woman’s background. No wonder that she seemed such a killer, and perhaps not merely for being a vampire.

Finally, she spoke. “I will kill her, of course, without hesitation or mercy. That is the punishment I meted out to every one of the Bolsheviki that I could find. But, if I welcomed one of them under a flag of truce, I would not denigrate them, Your Nobleness.”

Bellatrix sank lower in her chair, like some enervated puddle of flesh, and yet still attractive when so blatantly lazy and diffident. She looked up across the distance at Hermione—Hermione was forced to look her in the eye when she grinned. “Well, I suppose, Granger, that’s that.” It was amazing how attractive she was, even sunken into a giant recliner like a lazy teenager.

 _Viggy probably made great Shashlik, and I’m not going to let it go cold,_ Hermione thought, very defiantly, and picked up the stick and began to eat in front of them. “Can you eat?” She asked, thoughtfully.

Bellatrix grimaced. “Raw meat. Anything else … Not so much. How nice of you to care, M—Granger.”

“I was curious.” _You’re going to be curious until you die,_ she told herself, and Hermione certainly felt death close at hand.

“Let me guess. You’re going to ask next about how I escaped Hogwarts?”

“It’s pretty clear you didn’t escape it completely,” Hermione answered levelly. She was impressed with herself, proud, even, that she was able to remain this calm in the midst of what was, with little doubt, the most terrifying moment of her life, and the most dangerous. Before, when she fought, she had usually been one of many. And other than being a mudblood and friends with Harry, she really hadn’t had a reason to be killed—as if those weren’t good enough reasons for a Death Eater—the last time she was in Bellatrix’s hands.

But this time, it was downright _common sense_ for Bellatrix to kill her. Thinking about it rationally, she’d kill her too in Bellatrix’s place. Their cover had been blown by her mission to Transnistria. They’d need to flee and build up all they had invested in somewhere else if they didn’t take her out and make it look like an accident or blame it on someone else. So why hadn’t they done it immediately? The desire not to turn the nightclub into a warzone seemed pretty thin on the ground, really. Bellatrix Lestrange didn’t mind wrecking shit, and she doubtlessly had enough money to fix up a nightclub in Bendery.

 _They’d see it was magic, and Larissa would come with her shock team?_ Of course, by that standard, Hermione just needed to find a way to get away—to hold the two of them off for long enough to disapparate. She had considered that several times on the walk there, but had decided that there was far too much risk. If Valentina lunged at her, she could disapparate with a vampire’s fangs already in her neck.

 _Bellatrix might do that too, actually._ Hermione took a breath, and another breath. Of course, her mind kept swirling back to the best idea, which was to get Valentina on her side. Valentina might be a killer, and Valentina might have a past, but she was also a muggle, or had been, once.

“How does she treat you, really?” Hermione turned away from Bellatrix, and addressed the vampire.

“I’m treated fine,” Valentina shrugged. “If you mean Her Nobleness’ past ideology, well, I think that she’s had to deal with humans enough—and also sees me as more magical than not, now…”

“Oh fuck me!” Bellatrix snarled, and again leapt to her feet. “You just _waited out the clock, Valentina!_ And you probably--”

There was another set of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Valentina grinned. “Your Nobleness gave her word. Part of my duty, as I saw it, was to help you keep it.”

 _What the hell?_ Hermione wondered. But then she saw the figure coming down the stairs, and she audibly gasped.

Nymphadora Tonks.

_I saw her dead, I saw her dead, I saw her dead… Oh Christ._

“Viggy, bring me bloodwine,” Bellatrix ordered with an imperious sneer of resignation, and then flopped back down into her chair, and this time pulled a comforter over herself. Hermione didn’t notice, because she was standing and staring at the stairs, and …

Tonks was there, standing and staring back at her. Tonks, with shock pale skin, and eyes that flashed in the light against the dark, against pink hair and her usual garb that leaned heavy on black leather.

Tonks, who doubtlessly she had just had a polite conversation with on a British Airways flight to Bucharest, because it was _only then_ that all of this came together.

Tonks shoved her hands into her pockets and looked from Bellatrix to Hermione, then to Valentina, and tipped a salute at Valentina. “You know, I worry about you sometimes, Valya,” she addressed the woman with her nickname, “but you are one hell of an operator when your put your mind to it. Thank you for keeping this from exploding out of control.”

“You have offered me a family, and that means helping keep it intact,” Valentina whispered, and then looked sharply at Bellatrix. “You know, Your Nobleness, that Tonks would have never forgiven you for it. Is that what you wanted, when you saved her at this battle of Hogwarts? I don’t think it was, not even then. She is your kith and kin.”

Bellatrix angrily took the goblet from Viggy, and glared at each of the three women that she faced. “Well, where are we going to flee to, then? For we will have to flee _fast and far,_ she will bring enforcers at her back, and they will come eagerly, for all of the other threats are defeated and locked up. They will come to finish off Voldemort’s Leftenant, and they will do everything they can to stop us.”

“The Russians won’t let them.”

“Then the Russians will do it themselves!” Bellatrix snapped, her lips stained red with the blood and wine she had just drank. “They are no cowards, and all the better, to show that they exercise authority over this territory.”

Hermione regarded Bellatrix, letting her rant, as she tried to figure out the relationship between her and the two other vampires. Tonks, well… Valentina was adopted into the family, it sounded like, however that worked for vampires. She desperately wanted to know more, even as Bellatrix mustered a dejected sort of defiance in accusing them of foolishness, while sitting there in her chair, with the comforter over her lap. If she hadn’t been so ravishingly young looking and pretty-- _what the hell Hermione?--_ she would have looked like something of an old woman, really. And the heat was already cranked up; it was like her grandma’s house in that regard.

Hermione shook her head and laughed softly. _I suppose vampires feel cold._

Three pairs of eyes that flashed in the light turned to face her. _Uhm._ That felt _very much_ like being prey, even from Tonks. Hermione rallied herself, and stood up. _I need to talk to Tonks._ “I … Have been given safe conduct, and was welcomed as a guest, and given food and drink. I have no hostile intentions against any of you for as long as that holds. Unlike some people I know, I’m capable of observing a truce.”

Bellatrix looked into the pool of bloodwine in her goblet. She seemed to deflate a little bit. “I thought you loved me, Tonks,” she finally said, her voice barely above a murmur.

Tonks cringed, and even in those vampiric eyes, Hermione clearly could, and was absolutely shocked to see real shame there. _What is going on?_

“That’s Bella giving us permission to talk,” Tonks explained with a soft shrug, and gestured back up the stairs. They went out to a sitting room, with windows, but of course it was well after dark. A subtle wave of her wand brought the lights up, to show a quaint set of books on the walls, furniture, and some local muggle landscapes, which didn’t move as wizarding paintings did.

Hermione sat gingerly, feeling like the questions were boiling over from her as she looked at Tonks. “Is it dumb or right on target if I just kind of stupidly ask what happened?”

“Absolutely not dumb, Hermione,” Tonks managed to whisper out a little hint of a laugh. “No, no, it’s actually a very good question. To be honest, I spent a while trying to figure it out myself. Internalise it. Accept it. Live with it. I … She saved my life, Hermione.”

“... _Why?_ She hated you and your mother,” Hermione shrugged in helpless confusion.

“Hatred among close members of the same family … She also _loved_ my mother, ‘mione. Genuinely. She wanted to save my life, actually, because…” Tonks sighed and rubbed her head. “With da’ gone, she thought that she could be friends with Andromeda again, and tossing me down on mum’s doorstep after the Battle of Hogwarts would be the perfect way to prove that. But the Dark Lord pushed even her to the limit. Apparently, there was an unbreakable vow between Narcissa and Severus … About Draco’s mission.”

“Huh. That makes sense,” Hermione frowned, remembering the events of years ago, which frankly blurred together at times. There was also only one reason that it could possibly be important. “Voldemort found out, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Tonks agreed. “So he told Bella that she had to kill me, or else he would punish Aunt Narcissa for her disloyalty.”

 _Oh shit._ From everything that Hermione knew about the Black Sisters, that might have been the one threat that would turn Bellatrix against Voldemort. It showed how very unhinged he was at the end of the war, actually.

“She tried to be Slytherin about it and thread the needle,” Tonks explained. “She came up with the plan of, well, uhm. Killing me and turning me into a vampire. It met the definition of His words, that I needed to _die._ But then she could still take me back to my mother, and Bella convinced herself that was good enough.”

“Okay, uhm… So she used a _spell_ to turn you into a vampire?”

“Yes, such dark magic does exist. Of course, it’s very old and very dark and… Well, she was the Brightest Witch of Her Age. She pulled it off, but it weakened her. Vampiric magic is different, and harder to focus through a wand. She had ‘tainted’ her magical core with vampiric magic, so…”

“It burst loose when Misses Weasley hit her with that stunning spell, didn’t it? It burst loose and overwhelmed her!” Hermione started laughing, she couldn’t help it. Tonks being there made her feel safer, and the situation was so absurd. “Oh _Merlin,_ you mean she _accidentally turned herself into a vampire?_ ”

“Yeah,” Tonks agreed and grinned. “When you put it that way, it’s actually pretty funny.”

“ _Yes it is._ ” Hermione tried to ignore the curl of fangs in Tonks’ mouth when she grinned like that, though. She wanted Tonks to just be Tonks, and now she had a million questions. “Uhm… You were in Britain, right?”

“I was in Britain,” Tonks acknowledged. “Kind of obvious reason, really. Visiting my son.”

“ _Andy Tonks knows_?” Hermione had been about to ask why Tonks hadn’t just wandered into the Ministry of Magic to let the Aurors know. Now, she had about another twenty questions to ask.

“ _...And now little Teddy, too,”_ Tonks agreed. “But we were trying to keep it secret from Harry, you know, so I had to wait to see him after he got older, lest he blurt it out…”

“But _why_? It seems like Valentina is on your side and there’s two wands against one. Tonks, we can _just walk out of here right now._ ” Hermione grinned, feeling the relief wash over her that seemed like a culmination of all her fear she had endured for the past two hours, give or take.

“Can’t.” Tonks groaned. “One, it would start World War Three with my mum. Black tribal loyalty, and all. Mum’s forgiven Bella, considering, she did get me out of Hogwarts alive. Sort of. Two, Bella hasn’t actually killed anyone since the Battle of Hogwarts, so it seems… Starting a Wizarding World War over competing jurisdictions to try and get to her in Transnistria feels pretty stupid, because, no matter how big Councillor Naryshkina talks, if that strike team hits Bendery, which is in the demilitarised zone, Moldova would respond… And three, I… Bella is more complicated than that, Hermione. And it’s kind of a stupid vampire thing, but we’re… together.”

Tonks said that very smally and quietly, which was unusual for Tonks.

Hermione gaped at her like a gutted fish anyway. “Oh.”


	12. Facing a Demon

How do you deal with this kind of revelation? It had been years, sure, and years could change things unfathomably. But Tonks had been ‘safely’ dead in Hermione’s mind, in the bitter sorrow of absent friends, and departed heroes. Hermione’s memory of her was as cheerful, funny Tonks, and in black, dark times in her mind, of Tonks, splayed out dead alongside Remus on the stones of Hogwarts.

This Tonks sitting in front of her was instead very much alive, and also saying she was in a relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman whose torture Hermione would take to the grave. _Tonks and Bellatrix…_ Does Not Compute.

Hermione was quick witted enough to decide that bringing up the ‘she’s your aunt’ part first would be an awful idea. In fact, Hermione felt that was relatively unproblematic as part of this. There was a bigger, looming part. “But… Bellatrix. I mean, Tonks…” _Where do I start?_

Tonks reached out and gently put a finger up. “Please, Hermione.” She forced in a deep breath, and continued to speak. “It’s very, very different as a vampire.”

“Maybe… It isn’t, though? Do you love her?”

“I feel affection for her,” Tonks answered.

“What a way to dodge the question… Tonks, she’s a murderer.” Hermione finally lost it and leapt to her feet. “I should … We could go now.”

“No!”

“Does she control you?”

“No,” Tonks grimaced. “It’s not that. It’s just that we were together, we had nobody else, we had nobody to rely upon except for each other, and we were here, alone, trying to make a way for ourselves, and we just … We just kept getting closer and closer. I would have never imagined it myself, Hermione, but alright, yes, I do love her. And she loves me. She wouldn’t hurt me, she couldn’t hurt me, and she’s probably in agony about this right now. And yes, to some extent she does deserve it. But she’s already died, there’s no prosecution of a dead woman. And she hasn’t hurt anyone in this life. I’ve started her on a path toward… I won’t call it redemption, but decency. Decency.”

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, feeling a wash of conflicting emotions. She was so happy that Tonks was alive. She was terrified that Bellatrix Lestrange was going to kill her before the night was over. She was shocked that Tonks was sleeping with Bellatrix… Loving her. Defending her. _But isn’t that what lovers do?_ She compared herself unfavourably, in that regard, when it came to Ron. Tonks was mounting a better defence of Bellatrix than she would ever mount for Ron and considering Bellatrix’s crimes, as it were, were unfathomably more serious than a bit of relationship disharmony, that made her tremendously embarrassed. _You need to get back home and recommit yourself to your man._

Distraction. That was a perfect, utter distraction. She absolutely needed to understand what was going on here, more than any other thing. _Be a Gryffindor, Hermione._ She pulled away from the wall and straightened. “Are you happy, Tonks? Are you _safe_?”

“ _I can’t be with my son._ Of course I’m not happy. But Bellatrix? Yes, I’m safe, Hermione. I don’t think either of us can hurt the other.”

_Huh,_ Hermione thought. That was a piece of information that might be useful. She didn’t know anything at all about vampires, really—well, others might consider that she did, but she didn’t see it that way—and would have to learn, fast.  She quietly walked back to the chair, and forced herself to sit down. “Do you want back in from the cold?”

“I’d have no civil rights in Wizarding Britain, particularly the right to bear a wand legally,” Tonks noted with sarcasm dripping in her voice. “It’s a major hindrance toward deciding to come back, even if I could be sure Bella would be safe here with Valentina supporting her. Voldemort dead and defeated or not, wizarding society is fucked up.”

_She’s got a point._ A point that embarrassed and hurt Hermione. She was trying to work within the system, sure. Shacklebolt was a great Minister. Wasn’t he? But the reality was that wizarding society was in many ways, deeply dysfunctional. They really would disenfrachise a hero of the war, just because she was a vampire. 

Hermione crossed her legs, and looked uncomfortably to Tonks. “So… Not a single person. You don’t need to kill people to survive?”

“I would have asked my mother to kill me if I needed to kill people to live,” Tonks snapped. “Please, Hermione. We can heal the wounds we create. We feed, sure, but we don’t need to drink _all_ of someone’s blood, it’s… It’s different than that. In fact, I try to subsist off of animal blood as much as I can, but it just doesn’t taste good, and Bella says it makes me unhealthy, so…”

Hermione closed her eyes and gave a nod. “ I accept that. If you can do it without killing… I accept it. We can definitely coexist. Oh God, Tonks, I  _missed you._ I think we really understood each other.”

The vampire got up, stepped over to Hermione’s chair, knelt down, and gave her a hug while on her knees. Hermione shivered at the lukewarm feeling from  her touch. “Please forgive me,” Tonks whispered. 

“Please forgive _me,_ ” Hermione shook her head firmly. “I’m being an awful bitch to you.” Hermione leaned over, reached out, hugged Tonks back. “Too much shock for one day?” She offered in a light crack. 

“I’ll accept that.” Tonks grinned, though, again, it was slightly disconcerting with the fangs visible. 

“Thanks… So, can I … Tonks, if you’ve gotten Bellatrix not to commit crimes for several years _thank you._ That’s really impressive. I’ve been trying to work on rehabilitation…”

“I know, I’ve gotten my hands on copies of the Daily Prophet. Very controversial of you,” Tonks grinned through silent tears, which Hermione could see where tinged with blood. 

“Right. Only one of us has been totally disconnected from the other.” Hermione swallowed. “Well, I guess I’m beating around the bush. Tonks, I’d like to … Let’s go back downstairs and talk to her.” 

“Are you sure, Hermione?” 

Hermione looked at the wall, and swallowed. “Yes.” A thousand members and emotions flooded in, but she didn’t take it back. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She had to face the woman who carved up her arm, and somehow, clawed back from Death, she finally had her chance. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Bellatrix sat in her chair, slumped back, like an exiled Queen facing her ruination.  Valentina had shifted to sitting in the shadows in the corner, reading a book to a small, dim lamp. 

Bellatrix had a goblet of bloodwine on her side-table. The shadows pulled over her. Her eyes flashed as she looked to Hermione, stepping down in front of Tonks, and slowly walking into the middle of the room to face Bellatrix. 

The vampire still had her coat, draped off the chair, but now pulled off. Her clothes were almost the same, down to the engageantes on her arms, with a few subtle differences. Again, Hermione felt that Bellatrix carried the  gothic look of a classical vampire almost entirely too well.  _Perhaps fate laid down her hand, because there’s few things that seem more appropriate._

But it was not stately confidence that she held, but a look instead of threadbare pride in the hour of ruination. This woman could never lose her dignity. She had carried it when she sat chained before the Wizengamot, treating the dock like a throne. She carried it now, in the basement of the house that she had created for her exile. 

The house of exile, that she expected to again be exiled from, at this hour. Finally, her eyes raised, and mudblood and terrorist, two Brightest Witches of their Ages, faced each other off from a distance of five paces. The silence of the basement den was split only by Hermione’s sharp, steady breathing, the lone among them with a beating heart. 

Finally, Bellatrix propped herself up and reached for her goblet, glancing to the side. “Tonks, has she already alerted the authorities?”

“No, Bella, she’s not done so.”

“Mm.” Bellatrix looked at the woman in front of her. “Why did you come, really? Not this ridiculous story about dragon eggs, was it?” 

“It was …” Hermione started, and was at once cut off.

“I asked you to tell me what you came for! Was it to gloat! Was it to gloat that I am alive to see my defeat!?” She sat down the emptied goblet and leapt to her feet, shaking her right hand. “Come on, _Granger._ You didn’t come here by accident. Fucking mudblood…” She reached for her wand on her belt, before, with a glance to Tonks, sinking back to sit down. 

It was a terrifying, absolutely terrifying presentation to stand in front of. Bellatrix was full of bitter rage and one could feel her in the air, tensed up like a live wire, a living threat.  Wild, alive, uncontrollable, even when she was technically dead, she came across more alive than many who drew breath.  “They tell me you haven’t done anything wrong since you came here. No deaths. No torture. Why the change?” 

Bellatrix laughed. “Granger, what a question! My Lord is dead, why should I?” She looked up, guileless. “What  _purpose_ would killing or hurting others serve at this point? In fact, it would be the work of a fool, since it would attract attention. And I suppose, despite all of my efforts, I managed to attract that attention after all, and so here we are. Is Potter and the Weasel waiting somewhere in a hotel in Tiraspol for the signal? You may not have warned them—but perhaps you don’t have to.” Another slump.

“Hell no. They’re not here at all.” Hermione was much too deep in the moment to protest the insult against her husband. Anyway, it was much milder than the ones that Bellatrix slung at her, and she had chosen to endure them several times now for the sake of trying to figure the situation out. It was too much to expect a Death Eater and Pureblood like Bellatrix to stop using slurs, apparently. _I imagine this hasn’t come up much without any other witches around. At least Tonks is trying to force her._

She had been distracted by Bellatrix’s accusation. She thought about what the woman had said, though. _Why… Would… She do anything violent?_ Why, in fact, did Hermione assume that this was a risk at all? After all, Bellatrix had said it herself. Her Lord was dead. Why would she …

“Why would you torture and kill? Perhaps because you like doing it?”

“Oh Gods no,” Bellatrix laughed, gripping at the armrest of the chair in which she sat. “Am good at it? Possibly so, yes. But like? What gave you that impression, Granger?”

“I think you damn well know what gave me that impression.”

Bellatrix was silent, staring at Hermione. The younger woman reached down, and rolled up her sleeve. “Don’t you remember, or do you perhaps need some help of what your idea of girl-talk turned out to be?”

“You were an enemy of My Lord. And you had humiliated me, and stolen what was mine. And My Lord punishes those who fails. What did you expect what happen? I’d give you a medal for succeeding?”

“Absolutely not. But, I did …” Hermione trailed off. Actually, she had no idea whatsoever of what she would do, or what she would want Bellatrix to have done. Why was she assuming Bellatrix was crazy, or wanted to hurt people? In fact, Bellatrix had always been unconventional as a Death Eater, and Hermione could see something of Tonks in the way that she went about her life, and defied all convention. But she had, unlike her sister Andromeda, committed herself to the pureblood ideology when Andromeda had dramatically abandoned it. Why, then, when Bellatrix had never let herself be simply a pureblood housewitch, a brood mare for a line? She had, after all, had no children with Rodolphus Lestrange.

“Are we going to sit here all night while you try to figure out what to say, Granger?” Bellatrix asked archly.

“Absolutely not. Well, Bellatrix. You’re here, and I’m here. By law, you’re dead, and there’s no warrant for your detainer, even as a magical creature.”

“ _I AM NOT A MAGICAL CREATURE, I AM A WITCH!”_ Bellatrix shrieked. “I still have my wand, and my magic!”

Hermione pursed her lips. “You know the law doesn’t see it that way.”

“The law is _wrong._ Tonks knows that, I know that, and the founder of S.P.E.W. sure as bloody hell knows it!”

A blink. “You _know_ about S.P.E.W.?”

“Of course I do! Do you think the _Brightest Witch of Her Age_ wouldn’t bother to study her Lord’s enemies?” Bellatrix laughed. “Yes, I saw your attempt to ideologically influence the wizarding world very well, Granger. I studied it. Surely that doesn’t surprise you?”

In retrospect, of course it didn’t. But everything made sense in retrospect.  That was useless; Bellatrix had taken her seriously and prepared accordingly, just like Hermione had tried to study Bellatrix for the sake of impersonating her. But she hadn’t really fully understood Bellatrix, not in the way that she needed to. That much was clear, because now they were standing there, and Hermione felt distinctly like Bellatrix had the intellectual upper hand, despite how passive and almost demoralised that she seemed. 

“Can you believe it wasn’t an attempt to ideologically influence the wizarding world, then, but something sincere?” Hermione asked back with a sharp look.

“Oh, precious … The –” Bellatrix cut herself off again. “If you want such credit, why don’t you extend to me the credit that I was fighting to make the world a better place, Granger? Instead of assuming I was some lunatic, who tortured strictly for pleasure, I had my own vision, my own aims, in the service of My Lord. I wanted to make this Earth safe for magic.”

Hermione impulsively rolled her eyes, but she instead forced her voice to be plaintive, questioning, instead of contemptuous.  “ Did you really believe all of that rot about muggle-borns stealing magic, Bellatrix? Surely not.”

“No, of course I didn’t. It’s not about that. It’s about a world filled with pollution, rotting, burning, stinking rivers, mountains of trash, sewage in the sea. Muggles, muggles, destroying everything they touch. And muggle-born spreading it around further still, creeping into the wizarding world with the same destructive values which gave us a world choked in ash and oil and garbage.” Bellatrix looked levelly at her. “ _That_ was worth fighting against.”

“Was that really what you were thinking of when you carved that slur in my arm?” 

Bellatrix r eached down to the end table. One of the elves had seamlessly replaced the goblet with another. Hermione wondered if vampires could get drunk…

“No, it wasn’t. We lost our way.”

“We? Do you really think everyone who followed Voldemort did it your enlightened reasons?”

“ _That was what the Knights of Walpurgis were about! Preserving the natural world from the baneful influence of muggles!_ ” Bellatrix raged, a fist clenching and unclenching. 

“Maybe that’s what Voldemort told you, but it was always about his personal power. And you’re smart, at some point you realised that. Why did you stay?” 

“Why would I tell _you?_ ”

“Because,” Hermione laughed, and was mildly shocked that she was actually saying this, that she was actually believing this, “for Tonks’ sake, I am trying to find some reason to _not_ report you, Bellatrix. But I do want something from you.” There was a gnawing sense of guilt that she was really asking about this. _What about Neville?_

_ Lie. Get it done. Get out. Betray her later. She doesn’t deserve your confidence. It’s not a crime to make a false deal with a terrorist.  _

“Go on.”

“You created the scar, can you remove it?” 

Now a discomfiting grin came to Bellatrix, and she looked into the fresh goblet, crisp and short but ruby red nails brushing along the sides, looking down at the gently shaking surface of the bloodwine.  _ I wonder why she keeps her nails short…  _ Hermione distracted herself, from the feeling that Bellatrix was playing with her. 

“You won’t tell? How charitable of you. You want me to undo my handywork?” 

“Why should I be at peace with you, if you don’t give me cause to be?” Hermione countered. “Would you rather we duel?” 

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

For whatever reason, that was right out, and Hermione wondered if Valentina had been truthful when describing magic for a witch who was also a vampire. Perhaps. But she was definitely also  a threat, and Hermione decided she shouldn’t simply blithely assume that she could take the legendary duellist. Still…

“Then, an oath on wands. You’ll do your utmost to heal the scar on my arm. I will swear not to report you, until I have first spoken to both Andromeda and Narcissa.” 

“That’s it? That’s _it!?_ ” 

“If you’re not going to fight me,” Hermione answered, a smirk revealing her own growing confidence, “then I’d say you simply have no alternative.”

“She is no officer of the law, but merely a Civil Servant of the Ministry,” Tonks noted, leaning on the wall. “Neither mother nor Aunt Narcissa would be under any obligation to obey her, if she went to talk to them, Bella. If it was to tell us to flee, either one of them could make arrangements to come through Floo and international Portkey via Moscow.”

Just a while before, Hermione had been thinking about she would have loved the opportunity to try and rehabilitate Bellatrix Lestrange. Now, the opportunity had been impossibly thrust into her lap.  Of course, her vision of rehabilitation had been Azkaban, St. Mungo’s. Not the challenge of trying to get to the bottom of the mind of a powerful and very free vampire Lady, in an  unrecognised country, where there was no law enforcement to protect her from violence. 

_ Actually, isn’t that exactly the challenge you want?  _

Bellatrix, with a sigh, nodded to Tonks’ words. Hermione grinned, and presented her wand. “I’ll be back tomorrow, then.”

“So you will,” Bellatrix answered as if acknowledging the inevitable, and prepared to swear the oath. “One thing, though. It’s Bellatrix _Black_ now. And so shall it forever remain.”

It was wild and mad and crazy, and when Hermione finally got back to her hotel room, she stared up at the ceiling, listening to the air conditioning run until it was much too cold, and she pulled the comforter over; staring up at the ceiling, and wondering what madness had overtaken her, that she’d just sworn an oath on wands, with Bellatrix  _ Black.  _ Another part of her was giddy, for it seemed in the end,  _ she  _ had had the power over the woman who had burned the scar, burned the slur into her arm. 

She rather liked that feeling.  When she finally slept, on a vampire’s schedule, she had no nightmares about that evening in the Malfoy Manor. She was playing a most dangerous game, but for the moment, Hermione felt like it was on her terms.  It was a strange thing, staring up at the water-stains on the ceiling of the hotel. 

She didn’t want to bring in help. She wanted to deal with Bellatrix herself. Bringing in help was admitting that Bellatrix had her, that Bellatrix could control her, that Bellatrix could make her afraid, that she wasn’t strong enough to master this woman herself. Facing the vampire down, facing Bellatrix down on her own—dealing with this situation herself. 

That. 

Meant. 

Bellatrix.

Had.

No.

Power.

Over.

Her. 

And so even as the practical dentist’s daughter part of her gibbered at how wildly dangerous it was, the Gryffindor in her soul insisted they’d make the attempt. Hermione would deal with the situation herself, and finally, put that feeling of helplessness to bed. 

Only an hour after dawn, with a spare pillow-case wrapped over her eyes, did she finally sleep, full of all those conflicted emotions, but for better or worse, absolutely determined. 


	13. In the Heat of the Night

The next evening when Hermione finally woke up, she felt awful, like an emotional torrent had just cascaded through her and wrecked every single part of her being. In fact, that was more or less exactly what had happened. She rolled over, groaning, and felt the sheets tangle and twist. She was wearing pyjamas like some kid—it all felt silly—had she been too warm, with the sun streaming in? _Whatever._ Sleeping during the day always left behind this fuzzy feeling, and she desperately and strongly wanted to be rid of it. It was her only real motivation for getting up, as exhausted as she felt from the torrent the night before.

Motivation enough, though. Hermione got up, stripped off her pyjamas, and walked into the hotel shower, flung herself in. Blasted herself with the coldest of cold water in the pipes for a while, until her skull and her face and her eyes were numbed with it, and then brought on the heat. She was shivering by the time the boiler in the hotel responded, and then the heat came much too hot, and that was perfect, she held it until she was scalding, wet all over, even her hair, which normally she cared about protecting more than this. But it needed a wash, anyway.

Washing her hair, as the day slipped to dusk outside, seemed like a perfect way to distract herself. It was a rather difficult and involved job, untangling, smoothing, treating. She used muggle methods right up until she couldn’t get anything more out of them, and then resorted to hair care potions. An international coordination trip with a meeting of multinational Magical Creatures administrations' officials hosted in Blantyre of all places (the Blantyre in Malawi, not the Glasgow suburb) had put her in touch with some Witches who actually understood caring for hair like her own and made that achievement considerably more plausible, though getting stable potions shipped from Africa by the wizarding post was a pain, so she’d started mixing her own…

_Distractions, distractions, endless distractions…_

It was a nice distraction to wash and condition your hair and set it into a semblance of order with some potions. She took a good hour at it, and by the time she was done, she was furiously hungry and needed caffeine. Dressing quickly, she boiled water and made tea and looked around in the refrigerator and grabbed what was left of a bag of Chiftele and heated it up with a quick spell. Using magic to reheat the food kept the flavour of the battered meatballs with garlic, onion, egg and parsley. Almost as delicious as when she’d bought it, the combination of the tea and the Chiftele brought her back to life, as she turned off the rattling old air conditioner to help her hair dry.

 _Vampires. Bellatrix Lestrange is a Vampire. Nymphadora Tonks is a Vampire._ If it had just been Tonks, it would all be so easy. Bringing someone from the war veritably back to life… They could deal with vampirism, just like they’d helped Remus, just like in the sake of Remus’ memory, Hermione was involved in the reform of legislation for werewolves. That would have been straightforward.

 _Remus. She was alone. Denied her son. Denied her husband. Just Lestrange._ Hermione really wished she had her library with her, or any library at all, to start to try and understand how, exactly, bonds between vampires worked. She wanted to understand what the devil was going on between Tonks and Bellatrix, and she wanted to understand it _bad._

_Larissa almost certainly has one._

Right, off to area MinKol Headquarters, then! It wasn’t far, from inside of Tiraspol, and of course, it was more than just a security office, since it helped provide support to the entire local magical community. The duty officers had been briefed on Hermione, so after a brisk twenty minute walk, which also helped a great deal in terms of settling her mind, the British witch was standing in front of the glassed-in duty officer’s desk, which was meant to look like the front of some security station. There was nobody there; but a wave of her wand demonstrated she was magical and gave her access to the back, larger on the inside than it was on the outside, and in a neoclassical style, with an Atrium and many offices, and softly glowing magical lights.

She was immediately approached by a gentleman in a Transnistrian MinKol uniform. “Are you looking for Councillor Naryshkina, Madame Granger?”

“I am, thank you.”

“This way.” They stepped past some enchanted mechanical birds chirping away on a very lifelike bronze tree with glowing green leaves.

Larissa’s feet were kicked up on her desk with a set of reports in hand that she was reading with her chair cocked back, a picture of perfect insouciance. It was rather late, Hermione realised abruptly; she had just woken up, but for most people, it was the end of the work-day, though a conscientious officer of the security services was never really off-duty.

Relaxing with her feet on her desk because it was after hours was another matter. “Tea, Hermione? Do sit.”

“Oh I can always use more,” Hermione smiled despite herself, and settled in the chair across from the MinKol Councillor, as the officer departed their presence, closing the door behind him. The click, promising privacy as she could _feel_ the wards intensify again, was reassuring. And Larissa presented her the tea a moment later.

“Yes, well, isn’t that the truth of life: It doesn’t matter what the situation is, but more tea is always called for.”

Hermione laughed softly. A thought formed, and she blurted it out. “I wonder if vampires can drink tea…”

“Hmm?” Larissa stared at her for a moment. “Forgive me, but I don’t have the faintest idea what that’s about.”

“Oh, well. I was coming,” Hermione picked up her glass, blushing. “I was coming to ask if I could use your library for some research on vampires. You see, I think there’s a connection with…”

“There is,” Larissa nodded sharply.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You knew, then. You know. And you set me up…”

Larissa glared at her for a moment. “I sat you up for _nothing._ But, personally, I was monitoring that little coven. However, you can trust Valentina Syromakha to have a sense of composure around Witches and that little coven is quite law abiding. But it does bear investigation, so I thought I might send you against it, to see if they were responsible for the dragon egg smuggling. They have got to get their money somehow. I admit, I’m somewhat impressed that you put it together so fast, but you do have quite the reputation.”

“I suppose,” Hermione sighed, her flash of anger dissipating, “that you could have intervened. And you felt an outside perspective not tied to your office might get more information, right? And that I’m a competent enough witch that I could handle a small group of vampires?”

“Essentially that,” Larissa was grinning, though it was a bit rueful. “They don’t really cover the details of vampires in the west, though, do they, so you weren’t prepared for how to manage them and now you’re here to look at my library?”

“Yes, exactly that,” Hermione acknowledged. “I _hate_ knowledge gaps.” She paused, significantly. “But, the vampires said they didn’t have anything to do with the dragon egg smuggling.”

“...Do you believe them?” Larissa looked droll.

“...Possibly.” In fact, Hermione believed them completely, because Tonks was there, and because she saw no reason for them to do such a thing, and attract attention, considering who the head of that little Vampire coven was. But, she realised now that it was not necessarily in her best interest to convey the slightest bit of that information to Larissa.

“Well,” Larissa dropped her feet down to the floor, and summoned her boots. “Let’s go have a look at the library. You can stay as long as you like.” She got up, and Hermione hastily finished her tea as she followed the Russian woman through a few of the floors of the office, and into a fine library, set below a solar on the top of the building.

The moon flickered through to join the magical lighting. “Where did this building come from?” Hermione asked, wondering at the Victorian-era architecture.

“It was Tsarist,” Larissa answered. “A headquarters for the railway district. We hid it, to be used as a magical headquarters, during the Civil War, making it look like it was destroyed.”

“Well, it has a beautiful library.”

“An extension of that of the Princely House of Naryshkin, I assure you – I had it moved here when I assumed my command. Before that, MinKol used the space for a rotating library, from Moscow.”

“So you let the wizardfolk of Transnistria read your library?” Hermione expressed genuine shock. Yes, as a prospective friend, Hermione had hopefully asked for her chance, but the reality was that most Wizarding Aristocracy absolutely would not allow such a generous access to knowledge.

“Things are different in the former Union,” Larissa shrugged. “Enjoy the evening, Hermione. I’ll arrange for the access guard to have a regular badge for you, so you can just come and go, if it will help.” She had reverted to being very helpful indeed. “Anything you can find on vampires, I’m sure, will be useful in your investigation into the dragon eggs.”

She was also very insistent that the coven and the dragon eggs were linked.

 _But of course she would be. It’s to her advantage and the advantage of her Government._ With a slight shrug, Hermione stepped forward. Normally an aristocrat would just rely on House Elves to retrieve books, but she was relieved to see that with the library actually open, there was a card catalogue deck, in fact, almost blatantly muggle. Of course, it was in Cyrillic, and she was still learning, but it could point her toward books in other languages, and going to Hogwarts had certainly taught her the abomination which was called Wizarding Latin.

From that, she tracked down a selection of books on Vampires. Most of them were rather old, and so much the better for it, since Vampires had become rare enough that the more recent books on them that she had perused in the past had generally seemed vague and of poor quality research.

Under the moon and in the comfortable glowing magic lights of the library, she opened the first one of them. _Von Karstein’s Compendium of the Infernaliae, Vol. III, Vampires._

 _The Infernaliae._ It seemed appropriate for Bellatrix, but she shuddered at applying such a name to Tonks. _It was just the bias of the past._ The bias of the present, too. _Actually, of bigots in general, and wizarding Britain has plenty of those. Look at the way they treat Veelas. Tonks is absolutely right, going home would be downright dangerous for her._

The book laid out clearly the nature of Vampires, starting with the summary stuff that she knew—vampires were immensely powerful—and then the details. She moved on to other books, and kept reading: They could see for enormous distances in the light and dark, they could hear with enormous precision, they could follow people by smell like the finest bloodhound. Their strength was unnaturally powerful for their size—they could learn to transform, they could learn to fly and teleport naturally, wandlessly. They stopped ageing, but the young or deformed ones could learn a kind of wandless magic called fleshcrafting in which they could alter their shape, even their bone structure—almost like a metamorph, though it was expensive of energy and _blood._

_Blood._

Indeed, all vampiric magic was founded in blood. To practice latent vampiric magics required the exhaustion or expenditure of blood that had been consumed, because it was not the blood itself that they were consuming _per se,_ but rather the life-force of the creature that the blood represented. Indeed, vampires could survive on the blood of any creature, because any creature had life-force, but the life-force of humans and other thinking creatures was the strongest, and offered the greatest nourishment. _So, when Bellatrix talked about being able to eat raw meat, it’s really about eating some blood with garnish and dross around it. Hmm._ It suggested the memory of a mortal life was still strong for her—she wanted to remember her life as a mortal. Well, that was Hermione’s informed speculation, anyway, or rather, wild ass guess.

 _Mmmn._ None of this was very comforting, considering she had just been in the room with three vampires. Superficially if you read about their capabilities, it sounded like they could demolish anyone alive. They were invulnerable to any specific class of magic, excepting warding, which forced them to ask permission to enter—the origin of that specific myth. _Specific spells,_ however, could end them. Fire spells, namely, were an utterly reliable bane of vampires. Vampires burned very well—the preserved nature of their magical bodies was insidiously vulnerable to fire. _Fire is the Wizard’s friend against the Vampire,_ the text declared authoritatively. Indeed, everything Hermione had ever read repeated that, usually in a dismissive tone of ‘see a Vampire? Burn it’ which permeated all the writings on the subject despite the protection laws.

But it wasn’t the only one—vampires also had a vulnerability to silver which was not absolute (in that, their class of magic was related to that of werewolves), but, they could be poisoned by sufficient quantities of it being entrapped into their bodies. They shared an aversion to cold iron as Fae did, but again, it was weaker. Riddling their bodies with silver or iron or best yet, a mixture of both, could weaken them badly, and unlike normal physical injuries, they could not heal from it. Ultimately this could, if they couldn’t remove the specks of metal, drive them into a state of senescence, a sleeping state of helplessness. However, burning and decapitation were the only ways to kill them; staking, like poisoning with iron or silver, produced a senescent state from which they could recover if the stake was removed.

There was no need to sleep on home soil, though; that was a legend. _Well, I’d been wondering if they all had brought some from Britain. Or wherever Valentina is from, in her case. That solves that,_ Hermione mused, browsing through about the eighth book. The signs of the vampire confirmed what she had seen—pale, check. Eyes flashed like those of a cat—check. Fangs could appear and disappear—check.

It was in _Givastra Sedaelaon’s Book of Unnatural Creatures_ though that Hermione found what she was really looking for: _The Wizard as Vampire._ (and wasn’t that kind of a half-Veela name, anyway?)

‘ _Those to whom this misfortune falls have traded the true strength of their magical core for a long life. However, just as a ghost of a Wizard can cast or at least perform some magic, so too can the Vampire. But, unlike a ghost, a Vampire can learn, and develop her strength in the remnant of her magical core, and experiment in ways to maximise her advantage. Indeed, Vampires of magical origin become much less ossified than those of muggle origin, and instead of becoming set in their ways may remain clever for centuries. But the loss of power is so great that few Wizards would voluntarily gain immortality in this manner._ ’

Then, it was time to go back to Abdul’kadir Osman’s _Cousins of Djinn: the Undead._ She’d seen a reference there…

‘ _The natural creature magic of Vampires is sympathetic. They form families, and nothing is more terrifying than the families they form. A powerful Vampire Lord can establish an extensive coven he rules with an iron hand, with advisors, guards, a harem, as if it were a proper Lord’s court, or the regimented hive of bees. However, the relationship demands reciprocity. A Vampire Lord must help and support and protect the vampires under him; nor is it the only kind of relationship possible, for subtler combinations of magic and voluntary adoptions by mixing of blood can complicate and balance relationships.’_

But Tonks hadn’t known about that. She had assumed that at some level her relationship was ‘complicated’, but at least voluntary. She would have said, Hermione was certain, if her sexual relationship with Bellatrix had been driven by the objective of making her Bellatrix’s equal instead of slave. That would have been a simple explanation congruent with Osman on how the blood-bonds worked—if they both shared of each other’s blood for long enough they could become true equals—and then Hermione wouldn’t have been bothered at all. She would have applauded Tonks’ cleverness, accepted that the relationship made sense.

But that would have been a pretty Slytherin relationship for a Hufflepuff, wouldn’t it have been? Hermione frowned as she thought through the implications, though. If Tonks didn’t understand this aspect of blood bond magic… It seemed quite possible that Bellatrix _did._ And if Bellatrix did understand it…

_She voluntarily gave up her control of Tonks by seducing her as her own lover. Every time they made love and shared blood, she gave up more of her control over Tonks. Huh._

It was slightly chilling, actually. It implied that Bellatrix Lestrange—Bellatrix Black—was actually capable of caring about her family enough to give up an advantage over her niece. If it was true. The other option—the one that asserted itself strongly and that Hermione wanted to believe in—was that _neither_ of them had known the consequences. That preserved Bellatrix as a selfish and evil actor.

Unfortunately, that also meant that Bellatrix and Tonks had just started snogging because they decided Aunt-Niece sex was really going to be a lot of fun. _Loneliness? The Black Family is crazy, yo?_ Well, she really shouldn’t think the later, considering Andromeda and even Narcissa were strong arguments against it, but the family had possessed something of a reputation in generations past, which Bellatrix had lived up to, to be blunt.

The clock chimed, and Hermione faintly shivered, looking up at the descending moon. It was the Hour of the Wolf. Late. Engrossed in her reading, she had spent something like eight hours in the library. She hadn’t returned to Bellatrix and Tonks’ manor in Bendery, though it was close enough and fixed enough in her mind she could apparate straightaway if she wanted to. She had promised that she would come back. It _was_ a truce, though Hermione doubted they would attack the headquarters of MinKol in Transnistria under any circumstance at all; that would produce an unfathomable overreaction, and anyway, Tonks attacking the good guys…

_Who wouldn’t see her as a ‘good guy’ anymore…_

Hermione grimaced, and quietly put the last of the books back. They wouldn’t tell her which theory about Bellatrix was true. And, the books had also said Vampires became powerful Occlumens by nature, as well as Legilimens. Bellatrix was already a famous Occlumens and adding a vampire’s natural abilities to that probably made any sense of the truth from magic absolutely impossible to obtain. She’d have to satisfy herself another way—with a conversation.

Now, feeling the dark of the night very strongly, Hermione walked out of the library, and back into down into the central Atrium. As the centre of the magical community in Transnistria, it was open at all hours, but more or less deserted. There was a night watchman, though, at the duty desk. He had a samovar, and offered a cup to Hermione.

Drinking it, and after a little pointless small-talk, she stood in front of the enchanted fake metal tree and birds, so wonderful in the quality of their workmanship, so cute with the enchantments that brought them to life. In Bendery, who knew what was happening? Had Bellatrix lost it, and gone to look for her? Was Tonks and Valentina out, frantically looking for her, while Bellatrix sank down in her chair in despair? She had seemed so depressed, it had almost been pathetic, in the way she had accepted the inevitable, this, the furiously talented witch who had once fought as Voldemort’s right hand.

Hermione actually held a great deal of power over her former tormentor at the moment. But Bellatrix had power, too—she could answer this gnawing question that Hermione had, if only Hermione could coax it from her. _Fire is the witch’s friend, when devilish night-fiend to face!_ Another of the books had declared. Hermione had a very extensive catalogue of fire spells to her repertoire.

Smiling tightly, the need for knowledge exceeded her need for power. She put the cup back down, and tipped a salute to the guard. “I’ll be heading out now. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Madame,” his voice echoed behind her.

She walked out of the Atrium, out of the building, past the anti-apparation wards, and into the street. Moving briskly into one of the parks, under half extinguished streetlights, where only an old bus, snorting and spewing smoke, was in the street—in the dark, until she was sure she was away from any cameras or other Muggle artifices. Then she fixed the image of that comfortable manor, built out of three houses, firmly in her mind. She slipped her wand out from her thin outer coat, even in the middle of the night barely tolerable in the summer warmth.

She disapparated from Tiraspol, leaving behind the park, the empty streets, the bus, the streetlights.

Back to the other side of the river Dniestr. Back to Bendery.

Back to Bellatrix. Knowledge trumped fear, every time, and as long as that remained true—then Hermione knew that her self-worth wasn’t measured by what that witch had carved in her arm. Never would be. Never could be.

_Let’s figure you out, Black._


	14. Talking with the Enemy

**Talking with the Enemy**

Walking up to the house of the vampires. Back into the den of someone who had committed incredible crimes against her—and many others. Also the home of Tonks, whom she respected a very great deal and thought a friend. Now these two places were not mutually exclusive. She was a bit astonished and very proud, and how calmly she knocked on the door.

Valentina opened it. She stood still for a moment, and then nodded. “Come in, Miss Granger. She didn’t think you would come.” The muggle vampire stepped to the side, holding the door.

Hermione walked inside, to be confronted with a pile of trunks, and one of the House Elves flashing in and out of existence, subtly dropping off another one.

Bellatrix’s hearing clearly provided her immediate notification of the beating of a human heart in the mansion, because she arrived a moment later, looking frenetic and manic, fingering her wand. “... _Granger._ ”

“I told you she would come,” Valentina offered patiently.

“Oh shut up,” Bellatrix glared at the other vampire, and glared harder when Valentina just offered a smile, and retreated back into the inner rooms of the mansion.

Hermione couldn’t help but be a little amused at Bellatrix’s flustered discontent. She was more than a little tempted to rub it in, in fact, but decided to point it out graciously instead. “I came back, as promised. No strike team of MinKol wizards at my back. Or Aurors.”

“I have eyes,” the witch-vampire finally acknowledged, and gestured toward the parlour. “While we still have some night left, I might as well get some use from my house,” she observed, and they went to walk and sit.

“Where is Tonks, then?”

“She wandered off rather than help pack,” Bellatrix sniffed, and instructed to the house-elves to stop before they moved to sit. “So, Granger, you came back.” Her expression, archly intent, implied her own curiosity with Hermione, and why Hermione had actually deigned to make good on her promise.

“I gave you an oath on wands that I would. Why do you think I’d let my wand be shattered so easily?”

“Because you’re a mudblood, so you don’t appreciate how important to a Witch her wand is,” Bellatrix answered plainly, looking at her in challenge. Without Tonks around, she spoke frankly.

“Granger is a nicer thing to call me.” She held herself stiffly. “In fact, my wand is enormously important to me. As it should be for every woman who carries the title of Brightest Witch of Her Age. You have your own wand back, after all. I didn’t break it out of spite. It was returned to your family honourably when everyone thought you dead.”

Bellatrix sank back. Hermione’s refusal to rise to the bait seemed to deflate her promptly. It made Hermione want to grin, though she resisted the temptation. “All right. So, I want to know…”

“I am to be interrogated, then?” Sitting back, in black clothes against red velvet, Bellatrix was stunning as ever, and she seemed to spin back up at once, her eyes flashing defiance, even as she scrutinised Hermione right back. “I doubt you’re quite so skilled the Legilimens to do it, but if you want to try, I don’t suppose I can presume to stop you.”

“Why not? I’m not an agent of the law. You could just say no; anyway, I have no need of Legilimency. I actually think … I wanted to ask you about Tonks. I don’t need Legilimency for that. You care about her, why would you lie?”

“Go on, Granger,” Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. “But you presume very much.”

“Why are you two together?”

“Well, that’s certainly blunt. Decided to appoint yourself as my relationship counsellor?”

Hermione found herself confronted with a wit that was very much intact, then. Honestly, though she knew that relationship counsellors did exist in the magical world, she was rather impressed that _Bellatrix,_ specifically, actually knew what one was. She tried to imagine Bellatrix going to one with Rodolphus Lestrange, and … started laughing. _Damn it._

“Am I _that_ amusing to you?”

Hermione swallowed in some air, and felt very tense for a moment at the prospect of Bellatrix losing it on her. “You said relationship counsellor. I was amazed that Pureblood marriages would even _have_ such a thing, and then I thought of you and Rodolphus Lestrange going to one…”

She found Bellatrix in her lap a moment later, pushing down with her weight on her thighs, squeezing her into the chair, her ruby lips close to her neck. _Oh fuck. But I sure got her attention…_

The last time Hermione had been like this had been in the Malfoy Manor, those years ago. Now, Bellatrix didn’t need a dagger to be a threat. She had her _teeth._ Hermione could feel her, brushing back her hair, and breathlessly close to her face.

“Don’t fucking remind me of Rod,” she spoke on a single forced inhalation. “Don’t play that game with me.”

“So, the need for a relationship counsellor was on the spot? You hated him?” Hermione whetted her lips, trying to fight the fear. Honestly, Bellatrix was amazing, this was a different view than when she had been a scared teenager, Hermione couldn’t imagine a more perfect vampire and there was something about those legs on her’s, the corset-clad bosom thrusting into her, that was really … Did any of the books say something about vampires being unnaturally attractive, even across genders? She couldn’t quite remember in that moment, with her breath quickening.

“Of course I did!” Bellatrix laughed, and pushed back, her weight bearing down into Hermione. “Alright. If that’s what you meant, I’ll forgive the slight.” She slowly rose, then, and retreated to her own chair, leaving some inane, vampire-influenced part of Hermione actively wishing that she hadn’t gone.

Bellatrix brushed herself down, settled her clothes, crossed her legs. “I detested Rod, but you see, purebloods are not given a choice in their marriage alliances, unlike mudbloods who can do whatever they please, _Granger._ You had all the freedom of the world… And you apparently decided to use it to marry Ron Weasley. Honestly, I’m astonished with the way Weasleys are that you don’t have three children already,” she added with a lazy smirk that brought a burn of a blush to Hermione’s cheeks.

“I can use birth control like any modern woman,” Hermione snapped back, her irritation showing, but it was more her irritation with herself than with Bellatrix, that she had responded, taken the heat from that comment so easily. _What is wrong with you around her?_

“Pureblood men very much do not like their wives doing so. Though… I did get away with it anyway,” Bellatrix acknowledged with a wink. “I am really surprised the Weasel boy doesn’t forbid you as a sin or some sort of nonsense like that. They love breeding so much.”

“He would never!”

“Really?”

“I would never let him!”

“That’s better,” Bellatrix brought the tip of her wand up to her lips. Still grinning. “Just because you’re a mudblood doesn’t mean that I’m going to let the standards slip on the Brightest Witch of Her Age title.”

Hermione glared. She had been baited and it was growing late, or rather early. Bellatrix had definitely won that round. So she tried to gently push back to the original topic. “It sounds like you’re happier with Tonks than with Rod.”

“That wouldn’t be hard.”

Hermione blinked. “...Are you a lesbian?”

“Hmm. Curious question to ask.” She twirled her wand a bit, showed a hint of fang as she did. “No, I’m capable of enjoying men. I just don’t much prefer them.”

“So, you’re _mostly_ attracted to women?”

“Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, holds interview with notorious Death Eater and asks a lot of questions about her sexuality,” Bellatrix declared in a bemused voice, before the false tone dropped. “Something like that, Granger.”

It was another duel of wits, but that left the next move, like a game of Chess, very clear. “You used my first name. Thank you. Do you want to talk about Tonks now? I mean, you _clearly_ are happy with her.”

“She’s ridiculous,” Bellatrix answered, but it was with a faintly fond smile. “She’s at her sweetest when she shifts in her sleep and doesn’t realise it when she wakes up in the morning. Which, when she rediscovered her ability, re-forged it, made her an enormously happy woman to wake up and promptly topple over from her want of balance.”

Bellatrix. Acting human. Smiling in fondness about her lover. Hermione knew enough to know that Tonks would be perfectly fine with the depiction, too. _It’s now or never._ “Did you seduce her to free her, Bellatrix, or did it happen because you didn’t realise what you were doing?”

Bellatrix froze, and archly looked at Hermione. She let her wand slip down to her side. “Maybe you are smart enough to have earned your title. Yes, I did. Now I pay for it, I can’t control anyone; but I did it of my own self. And I don’t regret it. She’s family.”

“You disowned her mother. Would have gladly killed her father. But she’s family?”

“The mudblood tainted her, corrupted her, but my Andy was still there. Just… Trapped. And half-breeds are people. Her daughter… Tonks is a person. Wrong side of the sheets, perhaps, but… A person.” she looked uncomfortable, as if there were surely something deeper behind that, a more intense sentiment underlying those uncertain words.

“And I’m not? Valentina is not?”

“Valentina is a vampire.”

Hermione could feel that Bellatrix was, in some sense, running on fumes when it came to this argument, and she pressed, even as outside, a faint twinge of grey was pressing, too. The dawn. “I’m a witch. Would you disbelieve that now? What kind of woman denigrates the opponents who systematically defeated and dismantled her entire cause? If the mudblood won, what does that say about the purebloods?”

Bellatrix stared at her. Leaned against the armrest of her chair.

“You’re a smart woman, Bellatrix. I _know that._ What does Tonks think of all of this?”

“She thinks it’s a joke,” the dark witch acknowledged.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Hermione got up. “I’m sorry I arrived so late. Madame… Black.”

A faint smile from the former Death Eater. _Makes sense. I’ll remember to call her that. She really doesn’t like Rodolphus._ Hermione made herself smile back. “I’ll see you again tomorrow night. The packing was a sensible precaution, by the way. I’d have probably done the same in your place.”

Watching Bellatrix silently laugh and shake her head, Hermione showed herself out. She wasn’t sure at this point what she was getting into, but Bellatrix’s confession at least confirmed to her the principles of what she wanted to know, which is that Tonks’ relationship with the eldest Black Sister was dysfunctional but not profoundly abusive. She’d be able to let herself sleep on that, without a sense of guilt, and then…

 _I don’t know what, then._ In a moment she was thankful for Ron, and terribly ashamed that she had ever doubted him. She could scarcely imagine herself in the same position as Tonks, linked by a vampiric bond to Bellatrix _Black._ It was there and then that she resolved that she would keep working on this effort until the day came to pass where Nymphadora Tonks would be able to come to a meeting of veterans of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione would just have to figure out some way to deal with Bellatrix.

Her sleep that night was considerably better than the last, but it was still discomforted by the singular fact that she could not at all be sure if she meant any of it, or if it was all just pathetic self-rationalisation to justify her choice to collaborate and cooperate with the Vampire-Bellatrix for the sake of getting that scar on her arm healed. And her dreams, well…

Bendery or the Malfoy Manor, there were still Bellatrix’s thighs pressing down upon her.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next evening, Hermione made sure to do things right. She got up before the sun set—she had dinner, at one of the nice restaurants, where she could get her first real meal in days, instead of street food. Plenty of tea, and only a single glass of wine, to obey Churchill’s maxim that the first glass sharpened the senses, and anything after that wrecked them. That was a good start, then. In fact, even the single glass of wine brought back the reality of what she was doing, because the bottle was from the vineyard that Bellatrix and Tonks owned. _Old racist bastard who also saved the free world._

Humans were complicated like that.

Vampires were, in most of the ways that mattered (she dearly hoped), still human.

Food, caffeine, just a little alcohol—a brisk jog in Tiraspol through the parks along the bank of the river. Change her clothes after that—it was summer, and hot, after all. And then she was off, apparating back to the neighbourhood by the mansion. The sun sank below the horizon—only direct sunlight harmed vampires, shadows and gloom were fine—and she stepped up toward the door.

It was Valentina who greeted her. “Madame Granger. The others don’t wake up as fast as I do.”

“Oh?”

“Old soldier’s habit,” Valentina chuckled mildly.

“You were a soldier, then. As a woman. In the First World War?”

“The Death Battalion,” she answered so mildly, as if it were nothing at all to say. A history now all but gone, a few old men on the edge of death, the last living history of that era—and just perhaps a few vampires like Valentina. It would be fascinating if it didn’t seem more or less like the kind of distraction that her intellectual mind would crave, and that she was taking advantage of to keep from thinking about Bellatrix.

Valentina led her down to the den. “Madame Granger,” she repeated, now as an introduction to Tonks and Bellatrix—pure formalism. They knew the mortal that the Russian vampire was leading to them.

“Hermione,” Tonks smiled. Her hair was black, and in fact, she had never looked more like a Black before. It was drifting across her face, disorganised, she had a cute little button nose and a hint of freckles, shorter than usual. It was cute, and Hermione grinned as she moved to sit in the chair where Tonks gestured, close to her.

Of course, minus the freckles, Bella was the same, just older. A little bit of a memory of that heat from the night before of having Bella pressed into her made Hermione want to flush a little, then. Valentina quietly showed herself out.

“Tea, Granger?” Bellatrix said it very precisely, very mildly.

“Oh, certainly, I could definitely use more. Not nocturnal, you know.” Something was up, well, more than the whole taking-tea-with-Bellatrix- _Black_ -in-an-unrecognised-country thing.

Bellatrix was looking at her. Tonks was looking at her. Hermione very much felt like something had happened in the intervening fourteen hours or so that she was completely unprepared for. _You did your best, but they’re not statues just waiting for whatever you do next…_

Tonks pursed her lips and grinned faintly. “Bella and I had a talk, ‘Mione.”

“...I was starting to put that together,” Hermione acknowledged. “Was it about… Each other?”

“Yes, actually,” Tonks acknowledged, folder her hands up behind her head, leaning to the left in her chair. “I’m really quite thankful for it.”

Hermione shot a look to Bellatrix. She wanted to know what was going on inside of that mind, but Hermione was nothing of the kind of Legilimens would punch through the Occlumency shields of Bellatrix Black. And those remained, a kind of natural magic which the transformation into a vampire had not changed, indeed, that might have been made stronger. Bellatrix might as well have been a black hole to mind magic.

“I won’t intrude on your personal lives,” she offered immediately.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “You’ve already done quite enough of that, Granger.” Cocked back in her chair, legs crossed, here was some more spark in her. “Are you _satisfied_ that I am not abusing Tonks? Did it ever occur to you that I might just… Talk the entire thing through with her?”

“Why didn’t you do it sooner.”

“I _understood,_ sort of instinctually, but I was not _sure._ Your book-learning confirmed my successful course for me,” Bellatrix explained with a thoughtful wave of a hand. “I don’t have access to the library necessary to duplicate it.” She whipped her wand up, and cast a quick _“Lumos,_ ” bringing a brilliant but red light into the room. “Things have changed for both of us.”

“You were right about that,” Tonks added. “The way our magic worked changed. It’s been a struggle to re-learn it and honestly, Bella’s done better than most. Better than me, even.”

“I already knew you weren’t helpless, for what it was worth.” Hermione picked up her teacup, seamlessly provided by one of the elves. “Honestly, I’m fascinated by how a vampire-witch re-learns magic to adjust to the changes in her magical core. The texts are very dreary about the fate of one’s magic, at least in the histories.”

“You read fast,” Bellatrix observed, though Hermione chose to take it as something of a compliment. “Where did you find the books, anyway?”

“The MinKol headquarters. The Station Chief has an extensive library of esoterica.”

Bellatrix nodded thoughtfully. “She is Black Court, I think.”

Well, it was obvious that Bellatrix had been here longer and learned more about the local situation, but Hermione had heard the term a few times now and hadn’t had it defined for her yet. “Hmm? The Black Court?”

Tonks interjected smoothly: “Koldovstoretz is divided into Courts which focus on teaching students different aspects of magic, instead of Houses based on character traits. So, students are sorted according to a mix of their talent and interest to focus on specific fields. The Black Court focuses on esoterica, historical ritual magic, blood magic—several fields that would be illegal in Britain, frankly.”

“Okay… Larissa Naryshkina is very nice, but I can definitely see it,” Hermione rolled her neck a bit, hoping for a pop and of course not getting one. Her skin was cool, down here in the cellar of the manse. And Bellatrix’s response to her words, as it too often was, consisted of laughter.

“Very nice, but I can see it. Awwh, are you starting to get used to the idea that the magical world isn’t black and white?” Eyes that flashed with unnatural light, curly black hair dancing in red-light. “They must only teach Dumbledore’s vision of the wizarding world now—stupid tricks and silly jokes, and none of it power.”

“Well, perhaps you’d be wrong. My fascination with blood magic has certainly increased since I discovered it was intimately linked to the two of you.”

“Is that all? You’ll have to try harder.”

“Bella,” Tonks sighed. “You’re just baiting her to bait her at this point.”

The elder vampire rolled her eyes, but sank back in her chair and called for a goblet of bloodwine.

“In fact, the decline of ritual magic in wizarding Britain is an issue I’m interested in. So’s the interrelation between the attempts to control the limits of magic and normalcy and the way we’ve objectified, and ‘otherised’ the non-human sapients. Which includes the two of you at the moment.” Hermione leaned forward, adding, drolly, “and I assume for the permanently forseeable future as well. So, let’s call a truce on that?”

“We can. We can.” Back straight again, stiff, Bellatrix was always manic, always moving around, even in her un-life. “But wouldn’t you like to see the library at Grimmauld Place, then? I believe it’s Potter’s, thanks to his _inheritance_ ,” the look was savage, “but I know the wards, he doesn’t.”

“I … Would.” She coughed, and cleared her throat. “Scar first.”

“It would make it easier…”

Dangled in front of her like a lure for a fish. Hermione shivered. Dragon-eggs forgotten, she wanted to be nothing more than back in London, at that moment, going through the library at Grimmauld Place. “All right. Then I’ll work with Harry to see about making arrangements. He won’t be surprised to hear that I want to bring the library to specialised curse-breakers. He’d probably even give me most of the books; they don’t match into what he wants for his life.”

“You can always trust a man to waste the true gifts he’s been given.”

“I think…”

“I think it’s quite astonishing that I’m being so polite about Potter, who killed My Lord.” Back to the ‘My Lord’ stuff, back to the trenchant observations. But, she could scarcely blame Bellatrix at this point. The great family library of the House of Black _was_ in the hands of the man who had killed her Lord. It was objective fact, and from that point of view, Hermione tried to sympathise. She’d be furious if Bellatrix had _her_ library, after all, even if it was nowhere near so great.

“Alright.” A simple, abject acknowledgement that Bellatrix’s hurt was real. That was it. It didn’t have to be more. Smile. Disarm the whole thing. For twisted, unreasonable reasons, she still had legitimately experienced suffering and pain. Experienced death, and that because of a more honourable reason, saving her sister’s daughter; a reason that may well have contributed to Voldemort’s defeat. Who knew how many of them might be dead if Bellatrix hadn’t weakened herself. Perhaps Hermione herself. Hermione cleared her throat. “Then I have a simple proposition for us. I would like to work with you to come up with a way to get Tonks back into British wizarding society. _Without_ blowing your cover, Bellatrix. To let her live between two worlds, at least. For her sake, would you work with me?”

For a moment, Bellatrix stared like the young muggleborn witch before her had grown a second… Or maybe a third… Head. Then she nodded once, and smiled, apparently content at whatever had passed up to that point, the banter, the oaths, the information exchanged for information—the very Slytherin give-and-take of the conversation. “I will.”


	15. Auror Tonks

Where did you start when you’ve just blown up all your world? Where do you go next when you’ve rewritten the entire history of the end of the war, even if in a minor way? What do you do when you have a _giant secret_ to keep, and still a mission to finish?

Right then and there, Hermione lacked answers to pretty much everything. It did at least make some things that had been odd before make sense, like Narcissa secretly meeting with Andromeda on a regular basis despite publicly remaining the good pureblood wife of Lucius (even if she had now taken a position at St. Mungo’s and gave extensively to charity). Harry had just been so grateful that Andromeda finally had some kind of family support on the wizarding side that he hadn’t thought much of it, but Hermione had not wanted to think so highly of Narcissa Malfoy. Now she was reappraising that.

Guilt was an uncomfortable compatriot each night in Tiraspol. She certainly felt like she had sold out Sirius and Dobby for the chance to get the scar off of her arm. She indulged in self-psychoanalysis, an absolutely terrible and pointless effort. Of course, she had always been more willing to forgive others than herself, so it made sense that she’d even give some Bellatrix some credit, while blaming herself for engaging with her.

 _So, your problem is that you want to care about everyone except yourself, and you hate the idea that your chosen self-care involves compromise with a morally compromised individual. Yeah._ It was a neat exercise in intellectualism, but it didn’t go anywhere productive, so she headed out to a street cafe to get some food and something to drink. Probably coffee today, even Tiraspol did have it available Turkish-style.

She went out, wondering if she should just give up thinking about it. But that was totally impossible. Among other things, her investigation wasn’t particularly going anywhere. Larissa had arranged some interviews with border guards—which were completely useless, they had clearly been briefed in advance. The regime and the Russian peacekeeping forces would never admit they would do anything wrong, that was all _pro forma._ And Hermione respected that, it meant Larissa was a good professional protecting her national interests. Hermione had never been a realist herself, and couldn’t see herself in the same position, but she _understood_ it.

It was not helping. The food did, the drink did, but the rumination manifestly did not. Instead, it was just a reminder of the situation she had gotten herself into.

_Isn’t this just the radical commitment to equality and forgiveness and rehabilitation that you **want?**_

_How do you rehabilitate a vampire?_

Finishing dinner/breakfast, she went back to her hotel room. There would be one way to start to answer those questions. She could ask Tonks. Hermione needed help trying to make some progress on the case of the dragon eggs, _anyway._

The knock on the door came about fifteen minutes after dusk. Tonks was dressed like an old woman, with a scarf over her hair, and a massive pair of dark sunglasses, but these things she pulled off as she entered, tossing off scarf, outer vest, sunglasses onto the bed with casual disdain, eyes flashing red to reveal her true nature, but also opening up, being comfortable around Hermione. If she had completed the disguise and shifted form any, she had reverted it by the time she was at the door.

Hermione was standing there, waiting, and without hesitation reached out to squeeze the vampire into a hug. That was perhaps a test of Tonks’ self control as much as anything else, but she really had missed her, and without Bellatrix around at all, this felt much safer and comfortable. And Hermione was not at all afraid of Tonks. Around her, Hermione’s attitude might as well have been— _if she bites me, she bites me._

Tonks was cool to the touch. Hermione didn’t care. “Damnit, I missed you.”

“Likewise. And it’s wonderful to know you’re tearing your way through the Ministry ranks,” Tonks added with a grin.

“Pfft.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Kingsley’s golden haired girl, except I’m not golden haired. I’ve heard it all. And I don’t care.”

“Straight to the top?”

Hermione flickered a grin at Tonks that she couldn’t resist despite the circumstances. Oh yes, she still had her ambition. And around Tonks she felt comfortable admitting it, too. “Straight to the top.” A moment later. “Come on, sit down, bed, chair, it doesn’t matter. And do you want any water? I assume you can still hydrate.”

“Yes. Actually, I can still drink tea too, though I’m rarely in the mood for it. Most liquids are okay. It’s hilarious to see Bella going for brandy like it’s water.”

“She’s become a regular sot?” Hermione grinned wryly as she stepped over and grabbed a water bottle, insisting on pouring it into a glass to make it a little fancy for Tonks. But it was definitely a wry grin as much as Hermione had little room to complain—of course Bellatrix would come up—she was Tonks’ lover.

“It’s much harder for vampires to get drunk. But she’s… Well, I’m trying to help raise my son from a continent away. She’s… She’s pureblood, she finds that silly because Purebloods never really raised their own children to begin with. Nannies and house-elves, you know, Mum was kinda screwed up by it too. I’m sure it helped contribute to the existence of my name.”

Hermione laughed despite herself. “Probably.”

Tonks was laughing wryly as she looked up, to Hermione with her legs crossed in the chair, while Tonks sat on the bed. “How are you and Ron doing?”

“Oh, you know, Ron worked as an Auror for a while and then… Retired to work in his brothers’ Joke Shop. You know. He wants to have children, and Molly and Arthur really want more grandkids, and I guess we will soon enough, since, well, I mean, it would be nice for my parents to have grandkids too…”

“...You do know, right, that it’s totally okay to be a childless couple if you choose to be?”

“Oh, it’s not that way. Raising a new generation in the wizarding world that can experience it in a less prejudiced way than I did is important to me. I’m just not sure yet that I’m in that place in my career, and I’m not sure yet that Ron is in that place as a man where he could adapt to being a Stay at Home Dad.”

“I admit, he isn’t the most obvious Mister Housewife,” Tonks agreed with a wry grin, though there was a flicker of distant pain.

 _She’s probably thinking of Remus,_ Hermione thought, and immediately felt guilty about it, again. _Shouldn’t have brought it up at all, especially since I do nothing but complain. Damnit._

“It’s okay, Hermione, really,” Tonks observed succinctly.

“You could tell, huh?”

“One of the virtues of being a vampire, I suppose. Heart-rate, the scent of fear or concern in the air, I can hear it, smell it,” the metamorphmagus observed. “Though until Valentina arrived neither Bella nor myself really knew what the hell we were doing, to be honest. This whole ‘becoming a vampire without a sire’ thing was very odd, I’ve garnered from her.”

“Is that why you tolerate having her around? I mean, she’s very polite, Valentina, but I’ve also seen her file and she’s spent most of her life as a hired killer. And she was a right-wing terrorist before that, to be blunt.”

Tonks grimaced. “You got her file somewhere?”

“MinKol headquarters, of course. I _am_ getting along well enough with the Station Chief. I take it you’re at least somewhat aware?” Hermione folded her hands behind her head, genuinely curious with what Tonks was going to say about this here.

“She’s a lone wanderer. Her sire and their clan are dead, destroyed in the – World War Two, the Pacific part of it,” Tonks said after a moment, more plugged into that part of the history of the muggle world, but not by that much. “She wanted to settle down, come in out of the cold, be adopted by a coven. But that’s a very hard process for a vampire, and it involves giving up a lot of autonomy, and vampire men can be shits to women just as much as mortal men can be. It’s a … Wot, Hermione, the vampire world needs feminism too,” Tonks started laughing at the expression on Hermione’s face; then Hermione couldn’t help it and joined her.

“Well, great, men are all the same then,” she laughed, pleasantly. “Anyway, go on.”

“She carries with her the prejudices of her era. I’ve confronted her about them sometimes and forced her to work her way out of some. But, yes, it’s complicated. I think she sees Bellatrix as a fellow exile, and respects that. She was an exile before she was a vampire, and that part of her sense of identity is pretty wrapped up in the humanity she keeps. Just like, I suppose, family is the most important thing for me in terms of keeping a sense of humanity. And, well, on a practical side, yes, we needed an experienced fighter to help protect our territory. There are covens in Chisinau and Odessa which have sometimes caused problems for us, since two vampires without a history or a past or any kind of connections make for a vulnerable coven. Valentina has an address book as thick as her arm is long; representing the leader of an area in eastern Europe like Bellatrix technically is, she’s been able to reach out to a lot of people, smooth some ruffled feathers, and help establish boundaries for us.”

“Which are?”

“All of Transnistria, and the districts around Balta in the Ukraine. Which used to be part of Moldova before WW2 but that's all really kind of ridiculous backstory and only relevant because a lot of older vampires love living with one foot in the past.”

“Do you have any contacts across the border?”

“Oh yes,” Tonks nodded. “We don’t use them for smuggling, though, I …”

“Still want to be an Auror a little? Don’t worry,” Hermione raised her hand. “Despite Larissa’s suggestions to the contrary, I don’t believe you and Bellatrix are behind the smuggling. It’s all too low stakes and ridiculous for you to risk being found out from it. Technically you were already found out as a result of it and I saw how Bellatrix responded to that. I’m asking because I would like to use those contacts to investigate, I admit. And I suppose Valentina might even be helpful for that.”

“She would, and I don’t think you’ll have a problem of disrespect from her. Even Bella seems, well… I’m _trying_ to wean her from slurs,” Tonks added wanely.

“I know you are, and to be blunt,” Hermione shrugged, not feeling put on by the conversation. Tonks had taken a lot of shit over the years too, after all, “I’m impressed by the fact that she’s been as willing as she has been. Has she changed, my friend?”

“I think almost completely losing and then having to begin re-learning her magic has humbled her a bit,” Tonks answered. “That and, it’s common knowledge now that Voldemort was a half-blood and the child of a muggle. I’m not sure exactly when Bella found out and she gets upset when it’s brought up, but it may have something to do with a change in her stance.”

“Mmmn.” She looked sharply at Tonks for a moment, and then asked, in the softest and nicest voice that she could muster--“if I manage to get it so you can safely return to wizarding Britain, with rights of citizenship… Will you leave her?”

“I don’t know, I can’t fathom it at the moment but I can’t say for sure one way or another. You are right, though, she’d never really be welcome in wizarding Britain again,” Tonks nodded, her expression rather grim.

“I understand that it’s a difficult decision, and probably unthinkable at the moment,” Hermione tried to be as sympathetic as she could. “Uhm, did you know you were pansexual before Bellatrix?”

“Yes.” Tonks smirked at her a little. “Remus wasn’t my only partner, Hermione. I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered, though, because partners or not, I knew who I was attracted to, which was … Everyone I found attractive, really.”

Hermione blushed a little. Mayhaps more than a little, she could feel the heat rising up in her cheeks. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, not you, too young! Well, you were, then.”

“Fair.” A smile. “I guess by that standard, anyway, I’m at least bisexual, though it feels lame to use that label when you’ve never acted on it, like the ultimate excuse in tokenism.”

“...Hermione, stop blaming yourself. So, you’re attracted to women, too?” Tonks asked bluntly.

 _Blushing again…_ “Err, yes.”

“I guess it’s going to be impossible for me to convince you that you shouldn’t put enough effort into constructing some justification for how it doesn’t really count… But it does. Just, do something good with it. If you keep going up, try to fix, try to really fix, the issues the Wizarding world has with the LGBT community. Arranged marriages, for one.”

“You mean…”

“Take Bellatrix for example,” Tonks continued with a nod. “She was forced into an arranged marriage—legally. Otherwise, I’m fairly sure she’d have been exclusively interested in women. Well, she was exclusively interested in women, but, you know. I’m not sure how much that had to do with the direction that she ended up taking her life, but I think it’s fair to assume that it didn’t help.”

“I thought she got along fairly well with Rodolphus and Rabastan…”

“She hates Rodolphus, though she does like Rab,” Tonks corrected. “But Rod and her _worked well_ together, in Voldemort’s service. You can imagine what that did to her, finding a way to cooperate with him even as she was trapped in a marriage with him. Serving Voldemort with him. And, Voldemort,” her expression turned dark. “He manipulated and used her. Slept with her, but it wasn’t something—she’s never been sexually attracted to men, I’m sure. It was like a cult leader using one of his groupies. I think Bella’s in denial about it, to be honest. She hates being controlled by others, and yet, decades of her life were destroyed by Voldemort using her, playing her like a fiddle. And at some level she knows it, and desperately doesn’t want to own up to it, not in the slightest.”

 _That’s honestly kind of encouraging. It implies she’s aware of how much of her potential and her life and her freedom were all wasted,_ Hermione thought. Then she thought of something manifestly unpleasant. “Uhm, does that mean that Voldemort and Bella...”

Tonks looked like she was going to vomit. “Don’t know, and don’t want to know.”

“Even as her intimate partner?”

A glare was directed at her, and Hermione winced as Tonks spoke. “Can we… Move on from that? I’d much rather help you crack this case you’ve got for yourself. I’ve mostly used my Auror training to help keep order here and that’s...a complicated pickle to find myself in, really.”

“Fair. My apologies about pushing too hard.”

“You’re forgiven, it’s your desire to always know things,” Tonks smiled. “And, I do mean it. I’d love to be of assistance. I made my vows, those years ago, and it would be nice to actually act as an Auror outside of a counterinsurgency campaign—and then an insurgency campaign.”

“I’d love the help of a trained Auror, actually,” a smile flickered to Hermione’s face again, glad to put Tonks’ discomfort behind them. “Where would you suggest we start then, Auror Tonks?”

Tonks’ expression brightened at the form of address, even if it really didn’t get brighter since how pale she was seemed fairly fixed. _I wonder what happens to a black person who becomes a vampire,_ Hermione thought; another of those questions it would have never occurred to her to even think before this trip.

“Wellllll…” Tonks was grinning. “In fact, there’s a second railway crossing Transnistria, in the north, at Ribnita. There’s a distillery and sugar factory there and a fair number of other businesses as well including a steel mill. We do travel up there and go into the Ukraine via Balta, sometimes, but it’s further from the MinKol headquarters and also the headquarters of the peacekeeping commission, so if you’re going to be smuggling high value cargo through Transnistria, why not use the Ribnita crossing?”

“Huh.” Hermione joined her friend with a smile. “Looks like I’m reaping the benefits of your Auror training already. You have contacts up there?”

“Certainly.”

“How long would it take us to get there?”

“Two and a half hours by car,” Tonks recited. “Safer that way considering MinKol is probably tracking where you apparate, to the best of their ability.”

“Do we have a car?” Hermione acknowledged she had a point, and resolved that when Tonks was gone, she’d check herself for bugs of the magical kind, that might trigger an alert on a ward when she apparated in the area.

“Of course I have a car. In fact, I have a _Jag.”_ A wink and a finger daringly pointed at her. “Absolutely no saying anything at all about bad influences of the posh and bitchy on me, ‘Mione. It was in fact my mother who was the gearhead.”

“...Your mother may not be rich, but she’s _still_ posh.”

Smiling fondly but sadly, Tonks tipped a salute to Hermione in acknowledgement. “Alright, true. If anyone can be a posh gearhead, it’s mum. Da’ taught her how to drive on an Austin 1800. She immediately took to it like a fish in water and became obsessed with cars. Used her job at the Ministry to help them afford a brand new Rover SD1 when it came out...”

“Oh Christ, my parents told me horror stories.” Though, despite the fact that he was no longer with them and it was a sensitive matter, it seemed like a happy story, and Hermione could certainly imagine Ted Tonks trying to teach his aristocratic pureblooded wife how to drive in one of British Motor Corporation’s ‘finest’ products of the 1960s. Come to think of it, the few times she’d been driving anywhere in the muggle world with Andromeda Tonks, the estranged Black sister had worn _driving gloves…_ “A brand-new SD1, though, _really_?”

“Well, nobody ever said Purebloods made good decisions with their money,” Tonks winked. “Anyway—tomorrow night?”

“Sure.” Hermione did some quick maths in her head. “Will we really have enough time to get back before sun-up, though, considering the travel times and what we may be up to while we’re there?”

“We’ve got a safe-house up there, we can spend the night.”

“Well. All right then.” _Road trip in an unrecognised former Soviet Republic with Tonks to possibly surveill a criminal organisation. But don’t worry, Tonks is a vampire._

 _Well, this sure isn’t_ _**boring.** _ In fact, Hermione’s main concern at this point was that she was getting _used_ to the idea her life had become just as nuts as it was at Hogwarts. So much for putting the past behind.

Especially when it was named Bellatrix.


End file.
